Life with the Shortmans
by SuprSingr
Summary: Read about Arnold and Helga's family together and their life as husband and wife... and their four kids. Insanity, amusement, and romance awaits you. Rated T for good reason, proceed with caution. Now with 90% more grandparents! Stella and Miles included!
1. The Great Jelly Disaster

**The Great Jelly Disaster**

Amanda stared long and hard at the jar of jelly sitting before her. It sat there... mocking her... completely unaware of her frustration, her anger, her focused eye of relentless fury... all directed at _it_.

Amanda breathed deeply, trying to find a calmer place in her mind. She breathed out, and opened her eyes to the jar, seeing it was still sitting there, just where it was before, it's lid still as tight and sealed on as before. She glared at it a moment, her anger returning, before she quickly took a deep breath again, closed her eyes, and tried to think, to think without the ever watchful eye of her enemy sitting before her.

What were her options to getting this monstrous beast open...?

She could always call for one of her older brothers. Surely they would be able to open the jar... But that would be like giving up; quitting; throwing in the towel... and she couldn't have that, now could she? No. She may have been only seven, but everything had to be done her way and by herself. It gave her a sense of pride that outweighed the hunger she felt for the delicious treat lying inside of the horrid, insufferable jar. Her pride was her biggest weakness... but also her biggest strength, and to her, that was all that mattered. The incredible pride she felt from doing something so hideously insurmountable was worth the risk of shame she'd feel afterward if she were to fail. After all, she was Amanda F. Shortman, and no stupid jelly jar was ever going to best her!

But then, the only other option she could see would be to get the jar open by herself, but she'd already tried that... several times, actually... So if she couldn't open the jar, then how was she supposed to win this battle?

She opened her eyes, seeing the jar still sitting on the table in front of her, the lid screwed on tight and the manufacturers unknowing of the anger they were instilling in the young girl. Finally, her strength and frustration melted for a mere moment, and a small spark of sadness flashed in her eyes.

Mom and Dad had been gone all day; Mom off running errands, and Dad still at work. The only people home were her brothers. Zack, having been ditched by his latest girlfriend for a date, was lounging on the couch in the living room, sulking, while Phil was beside him watching whatever fancied him, completely ignoring Zack as he rattled on about how he didn't know what he could have done to set her off. And whilst all that went on in the living room, Josh was off lifting weights in his room, IMing his friends during breaks and very rarely coming down for water. Amanda worried about him sometimes...

But while all that went on, Amanda had been sick for the last few days, and was just getting over the flu. She was hungry, and, not wanting to seem weak to her brothers, came down to make herself a sandwich as opposed to calling to someone for some soup.

But of course, the only sandwich she knew how to make was peanut, butter and jelly, just like any other respectable seven year old would. She really needed to branch out a little... but that could always wait until she was eight.

Amanda breathed deeply through her mouth one more time (Seeing as her nose was stuffed up), and then reached forward to grab the jar, as her other hand came up to rest on the lid. She took a moment to gather her energy and to breath out, before twisting the lid of the jar as hard as she humanly could, shutting her eyes tight for a second as she grunted lightly in her strains.

Just when she thought it was time to stop and give up (just for a few more minutes of deep breaths, mind you), she thought she felt the lid give a little. Feeling a spark of hope, she twisted harder, and harder, and harder, until...

A sudden deliberately rushed shout came from behind her, right in her ear, "Amanda!"

She screamed, jumping almost a foot in the air, and in effect, the lid popped off, and along with it, the freshly opened jelly jar jettisoned into the air.

Phil's look of jollyment vanished when he saw the glass and very breakable jar go flying, and he jumped forward quick, and his arm flew out to catch the jar...

...but he wasn't quick enough, and the jar fell straight to the floor, a hideous smash sounding from the now broken pile of glass and grape jelly on their Mom and Dad's clean floor.

They both stared at it with wide, shocked eyes and agape mouths, Phil's hand still stretched out in his vain attempt to stop what was now a reality.

Amanda stared at the last jar of jelly she wasn't allergic to, shattered on the floor, a heap of sharp, broken glass and gloppy, purple jelly, shining in the dim light of the kitchen window.

The first thought that went through her mind, humorously, was that she got the jar opened, all by herself. But just as that sense of pride and victory started to brighten within her, a deep grief and sadness overcame those feelings and left her standing there, staring at the jar, and as if the whole universe were laughing at her, her stomach grumbled, loud and clear for all to hear.

Phil stared down at the jar, his arm still stretched, and his eyes wide. He had only meant to frighten her, and then out of nowhere jelly was flying out of her hands. So perhaps what that old man was always saying about "horseplay leading to tears" was right-Tears! His eyes shot to Amanda, afraid that he would see tears.

Fortunately, though, Amanda just looked pale and sad. Still, it struck him through with guilt, and he stood straight again, anxiously running a hand through his dark, brown hair he'd inherited from his great-grandfather. He didn't know what to say, though. Apologies just weren't his thing. But unfortunately, though he had acquired his pride and wits from his mother (not to mention his complete lacking of the ability to say he was sorry in a none-insulting way), he had gotten his conscience from his father. Though he'd spent years trying to stomp down on that, it never failed to come back full force when he did something shameful, just as he had now. He felt horrible for her sadness, his own sister, but knowing that if he did speak it would only do to make her more sad (since he knew something conceited or jokey would be all he could come up with to say), he kept his mouth shut unsurely.

Finally, though, Amanda took a deep breath through her mouth, sniffled a little through her stuffy nose, and then brought her now blank eyes up to meet his fearful ones. "Could you please make me some soup?"

Phil just blinked a moment, having not expected this... but then he just nodded, glad she wasn't bringing up the rather humiliating incident.

Amanda nodded back. "Thank you. I'm going back to bed." She dragged herself out of the room then... and then Phil jumped a bit at the sound of her punching a wall almost as soon as her small form disappeared from sight, causing a loud bang to go off and resonate throughout the house...


	2. Pataki Potency

**Pataki Potency**

"Honey, I'm home!" a voice suddenly sang from the hall as a door slammed shut, rattling Arnold out of his thoughts. It jarred him only a moment, before he regained his countenance and straightened his newspaper a bit in his hands, before continuing to read.

He felt the presence in the room then, the smug, sinister aura that seemed to follow the character everywhere. He heard the deliberately noisy footsteps as they entered, the shifting of clothing. Still, he ignored it, his eyes glued to the sports section of his newspaper.

"Hey, the newspaper's here, I see…" the voice hinted in an overly peppy voice, and the screech of chair limbs being dragged across the floor screamed in Arnold's ears. He heard the body fall carelessly into the chair next to him, and felt the lengthy arm that was suddenly thrown across his shoulders. Still, he tried to ignore. "The funnies in there? You know how I love reading the funnies."

Arnold grunted. "You hate the funnies."

The laugh hit his ear almost as quick as the response did. "Well, yeah, they suck! But that's why I love them. Everyone loves being a critic, and those idiots down at the Hillwood Times give jackasses like me a perfect excuse to be one. It's like a freebee, you're not even hurting anyone's feelings."

Arnold's head jerked up to stare sternly into big, smug blue eyes. "Don't say words like that."

The sparkling blue eyes held his effortlessly. "Like what? Hillwood Times? Mmm, you're right, if I say it too much they might randomly appear right here on the table top. Like Beetlejuice." The pale face next to his smirked at him, thin lips curling up into a malign grin.

Arnold just held his stern gaze, tilting his head down slightly to further emphasize the grave nature of his stare.

The grinning, mischievous face held his for several more moments, before finally breaking into a good-natured eye roll. "Okay, fine, sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you'd let it go. I mean, it's not like I just told you I've found an outlet for my jerky nature that doesn't make little children _cry_ or anything."

Arnold opened his mouth to reply before he stopped a moment, considering. Then he closed his mouth, seeming to clear his head, and trained his eyes back onto the newspaper.

A few seconds passed. Then, "Hmmm… Ignoring me again, Pops?"

Arnold sighed lightly, before responding plainly, "No, I am not ignoring you."

The near thunderous snort made Arnold literally jump a little in his chair. "Oh, come on, don't give me that crap. Admit it, Arnold. I _annoy_ you." The voice didn't say these words with any sort of bitterness or anger. In fact, the words were uttered with not only a sense of humor, but with a slight giddy undertone. There was a whimsical enjoyment to the statement.

Arnold's mouth formed a straight line, before he just folded up his newspaper neatly and placed it down on the table so he could rub the bridge of his nose tiredly, pushing his reading glasses up as he did so. "Well, Zack, to be totally honest, yes. You do sometimes."

A high-pitched, pleased chuckle exploded out of his teenage son's mouth, before the arm that was loosely hanging around his shoulders tightened and pulled him closer. "Awww, but you know you love me, Daddy."

Arnold turned his head to gaze at his son, startlingly blue half-lidded eyes meeting his own green ones, with bright sunshiny hair that fell messily over his forehead. The dark, black monobrow that would seem like it would be out of place actually served as more of a masculine, charming feature, and the smug, relaxed expression spread so perfectly across his face that it seemed like it was _made_ to smirk like that. Arnold's expression softened. "Yeah, of course I do, Zack." He shrugged out of the hug and stood up then, picking up his coffee mug in the process. "But right now, however, I'm not talking to you." He walked across the kitchen and sat his cup in the sink, turning on the water.

Zack turned around in his chair to blink at his father, his eyebrow raising on his forehead. "Well, why not? What did I do?"

Arnold kept his back to him, picking up the sponge to clean out his cup with too much focus for such a simplistic task. "You should know what you did."

Zack frowned. "Now come on, Dad, we're not an old married couple here. Just tell me."

Arnold put the cup down and braced his hands on either side of the sink, his shoulders hunching over a bit. He kept his head low a few more seconds before he turned around and crossed his arms, looking less than pleased. "Zachary…"

Zack winced.

Arnold continued, "Yesterday evening I told you you were _not_ to go out today. Your mom and I needed your help moving in the new couch. Since you left this morning we had to ask poor Grandpa to help out. The man is ninety-four years old, he shouldn't be carrying heavy things around like that!"

Zack scoffed. "Oh, please, Grandpa Phil's like an ox. Besides, if you really didn't want him helping, why didn't you just ask Josh? He's got muscles like you've got back hair."

Arnold stiffened, his eyebrows furrowing down angrily. "We _told_ you last night! He has baseball practice today and he couldn't help. That's why we asked you in the first place! Don't you _ever_ listen, young man?"

Zack looked up suddenly from his fingernails, blinking a few times in surprise. "I'm sorry, were you talking? Your voice is so soothing, it makes me zone out."

Before Arnold could start one of his usual long-winded lectures or randomly begin assigning punishments, small Amanda Faith wandered into the room, unknowing of the tense atmosphere as her big green eyes were focused on a paper held in front of her. "Hey, Daddy, what do you think of this poem? 'Just leave me be and we'll be fine, 'cause to my ears you're asinine. Your voice's like cats screeching in the night, your face so bad it gives Chuck Norris a fright.' Do you think it's too much?" She looked up then, noticing Zack's startled demeanor and her father's tense shoulders and tight-lipped expression. She blinked a couple times. "Um, is everything okay?"

Zack's face suddenly sprouted an eerily pleasant and sweet expression. He stood from his chair with a flourish and shook his head, bouncing on the heels of his feet. "Why, _yes_, completely innocent, virgin-eared little sister now in the room. Everything is _dandy_." He walked over to pick up the little seven-year-old girl and hoisted her into the air, before setting her now grinning little self back on the floor and patting her pigtailed head with a smile. "I mean, it's not like _Daddy_ was about to yell horribly inappropriate obscenities at me or anything, because that would be _mean_." He crouched down to poke her in the stomach, making her giggle uncontrollably.

Arnold's hard face melted at the sound, and he sighed, his arms dropping to his sides in defeat.

Zack grinned horribly at his father, taking this as his cue to leave. "Now, what's this about a poem, 'manda Faith? You know, I'm not too bad at poetry. I can make rhymy words. How about I take a look at it with you? In the _other_ room, way upstairs, with the door locked and curtains closed?" He didn't wait for a response as he pushed her happy form out of the room, following after her hastily.

Arnold watched them leave before walking over to fall gracelessly back into his chair, closing his eyes at the absurdity of his situation. He muttered quietly to himself, "Pataki blood… That's some _potent_ stuff."

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><p><strong>AN: ***Waves excitedly* Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! _Heeeey_! ;) I wrote this in just a few hours. xD Does it show? Lol, I don't know, I wanted to introduce Zack to this series already. ;P 'Cause he's sexy and he freaking _knows_ it. XD There are four kiddlies in total, but I had a sorta introduction to Amanda in the first chapter, so I thought I'd kinda run with that and show them off one by one. ;P Next up will be, ehhh… I don't know, we'll see. xD It's never a good idea for me to say I have plans for anything, because… I _never_ plan. I'm more of the 'making it up as I go' type. *Scratches stubble* Probably a bit of a design flaw there… I'll have to file a complaint to my designer. *Checks foot* Yup, made in China. Just like everything else in America. Guess I'd better go get started on that digging now if I'm ever gonna get it done. *Doesn't move*

So _yeah_… That's about it.

_**REVIEW!**_

Or, well, you know… If the urge strikes ya. *Sips coffee*

Oh, and next post'll be "Hypnotizing Helga." Be up by sometime next week. *Guzzles coffee at the idea of finishing* 0_e"


	3. Giggle Spells

**A/N:** Just a quick thing I'd like to make clear. Uh, this is set in today's time. Idk if anyone's ever noticed, but I never make direct references to the real world in any of my stories, because I like to try to stay true to the series. I spoof EVERYTHING. But I'd like to be able to make fun of the real world when using these characters, because they're kids and they exist in our time anyway, and our time _sucks_, so… Yeah. I need to be able to make fun of crap in today's world. xD It's just… how it has to be. xD

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, by the way! You're all so very encouraging. You make me want to be a better writer. :D I love you guys!

And _yes_, I know the title's super lame, but I couldn't think of anything better. Dx _Forgive me_!

**Disclaimer: **I own everything except their parents, and my dignity. *Salutes with trousers around ankles*

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><p><strong>Giggle Spells<strong>

A giggle.

That was all it took for the world to end. The lights came on with a faint, barely noticeable click, and the two figures were bathed in a blinding light, as if the Grim Reaper had just shone his flashlight on them.

The fact they were not alone hit them like a boulder crashing to the head. The two teenagers flew around with racing hearts, startled and terrified.

Their eyes came to rest upon two less than pleased parents, tapping their feet in disturbing unison, the sleepwear and disgruntled hair letting the teens know they'd gotten out of bed over this.

Zack quickly let go of his girlfriend and coughed loudly, a sheepish grin breaking out on his face.

"Look, I know I've made up a lot of outlandish stories before to get out of trouble, but this time, it's _really_ not what it looks like…"

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><p>Which lead him to where he was now, thrown across the couch carelessly with the TV flicked on to some random movie. His normally twinkling blue eyes were dull and dead with weighty bags underneath them, his hair unkempt (more than usual) and his loose t-shirt and blue plaid over shirt wrinkled. One leg of his blue jeans was rolled up, a dark blue baseball cap pulled backwards over his head, and his sneakers kicked off halfway across the room. His bloodshot eyes focused on nothing. He simply existed.<p>

Sinister green eyes peeked around the corner, hidden only by the shaggy cover of a mass of dark brown hair. The creature slowly crept out from its hiding place, trusting in its victim's ignorance. It slunk confidently over to the back of the couch and stood a few inches back, so to not breathe on the unsuspecting's head and alert him of his presence.

It gazed in satisfaction at the unmoving, statue-esque corpse taking up all of the couch with his lanky form, before swiftly grabbing hold of the back of the couch and propelling itself onto his legs.

Phil beamed sardonically at his older brother. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? The great Zack Shortman wasting his life away on a couch? Getting a head start on that career as a free-loading simpleton, I see." The young preteen reached over on the coffee table to grab a handful of the popcorn residing there and popped a couple pieces in his mouth. He spat them back out immediately, though, his bright face suddenly turning disturbed. "Ew, that popcorn's staler than your jokes. How long have you been out here?"

"Ever since four in the morning," Zack droned, his reddened eyes still trained on the TV.

Phil's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. "Four in the morning? Why were you up that late?"

"_Because_ I _can_ be because I'm older than you, thus better, thus shut up," he bit back, his head snapping over to give him a look. His blood-streaked eyes and ungroomed hair only served as to make him all the more irritated looking. Zack was hardly the aggressive type, but no sleep, no food, and no bowel movements for over eleven hours could make even Snow White want to bite a few heads off.

Phil could take a hint. But unfortunately, he didn't care if he irritated anyone. So he just rolled his eyes at his brother's assessment and responded dryly, "Whatever, Zack. If you're not going to give me an actual answer, though, can you at least move your stupid, bony legs? They're very uncomfortable." He shifted a bit, as if to demonstrate the disagreeable nature of their roles as proper seat cushions.

Zack didn't respond. He merely kicked his legs up, causing Phil to jettison forward and land with his face smearing across the floor, and sat upright.

Phil shouted in shock, before sitting up quick off the floor. He turned around in a snap to glare menacingly at the slightly smug look on his sibling's face. "My face has carpet burn now…" he ground out.

Zack smiled tiredly. "Sorry, little man."

Phil clamped his eyes shut in degradation at the address. _Little man_. Swallowing back his anger at the nickname, though, he just gave a long sigh and sat back down in his seat, now free of limbs. "No problem, littler man."

Zack snorted, reaching over for the first time in hours to get some popcorn from the bowl and pop it in his mouth. "And you say my jokes are stale. The difference in height between us is staggering. Nice try, though. Ample attempt, Philly." Joking was refreshing. He hadn't done that in hours. The familiarity was comforting, and made him smile a bit.

Phil smirked to himself, keeping his eyes ahead. "Oh, I wasn't talking about in height. More like _length_, if you know what I mean…"

Zack stunted, his popcorn-filled hand halfway to his mouth and his eyes wide. Phil, not expecting a response any time soon, reached over and plucked the popcorn from his fingers and placed it in his own mouth instead.

Finally, though, after half a commercial break, Zack unfroze and looked direly at his youngest brother. "Phil, I'm the only guy you've ever used that joke on, right?"

Phil looked over at him with uncaring half-mast eyes, his mouth still hard at chewing. "Yeah, why?"

Zack paused a moment, before stating seriously, "Keep it that way."

Phil stared at him a few more seconds more alertly, not used to seeing him so serious, before he shrugged. "Sure, whatever you say, littler man."

Zack stayed quiet a few more seconds after that, before he turned to him with a very firm smirk spread across his pale face. "You wish, rugrat."

Phil just scoffed, sitting more upright in his seat in a show of importance. "Sorry, Zack, but I'm above such primitive competitions. You can't make me feel inferior over something like this, like _anything_." He muttered under his breath then, "Besides, I know when you're bluffing." Raising his voice once more, he inquired, "So why have you been home all day on a Saturday anyway? Normally you're out being public doofus number one by now. What'd you do this time?"

Zack turned his head back to the TV, unfazed by the insulting inquiry, and just silently mulled over the answer. His once more sullen eyes drifted down to the remote in his hand, and he decided to look for something better to watch. Flipping through channels now, he said, "Nothing _bad_, Mom and Dad just overreacted and wouldn't listen. Or, Dad listened, I guess, but he didn't believe me."

Phil stared at him a few seconds, his lips pursed, before he retorted, "I repeat: _what'd you do this time?_"

Zack sighed, reaching a hand up to run through his hair in frustration only to find he was wearing a hat. Surprised, he pulled it off his head and stared at it in confusion. "What the heck? Since when do I wear a hat?" Throwing it across the room to accompany his lonely shoes, he went on to reply, "I was just taking Sophie up to my room to loan her a few CDs and show her my fish, but those were kinda just excuses to show her my room in general. I'd realized she'd never really seen it before, and I figured, what the heck?" He threw his arms up in the air. "But since it being a little late and me being my usual impulsive, exciting self don't mix very well, _Mummy_ and _Daddy_ just automatically assumed I was trying to—" He stopped abruptly, realizing he was ranting to an eleven-year-old. Looking over at him, as if to affirm his adolescence, Zack shook his head. "Oh, never mind, you wouldn't understand."

Phil frowned, his brows furrowing. "Well, that's insulting. Why not?"

"You're just too young, and it's boy/girl stuff. You just wouldn't get it." Zack resumed clicking channels, feeling all the more exhausted.

Almost instantly, as if someone had hit a switch, Phil's eyes went into slits, his lips pursed, and his face transformed into a rock; hard and cold. "Ohhh, I see… You're right. I _wouldn't_ get it. And I have no _desire_ to 'get it.' " He used air quotes. "Women… Useless, evil creatures."

"You wouldn't be here if it weren't for a woman," Zack stated uninterestedly, not even looking at him.

"Yeah, and neither would Amanda! Proof!" Phil proclaimed suddenly in a dramatic tone of voice, his former low, dry tone lost. "That darn Sophie keeps getting you in trouble. When will you learn?"

Zack just gave a very long, tired sigh and put a hand to his face. "Phil, please, I'm not in the mood."

Phil rolled his eyes. "You're never in the mood. But I only say these things 'cause I care. Ever since you met her, you just haven't been the same. I mean, you used to be cool! Now look at you, sitting here alone on a Saturday watching reruns of Power Rangers." He scrunched his face up in disgust. "Ugh, horrible show."

"It's not so bad."

"Yes it _is_. It's mind rotting. You should be out watching a movie or something, not grounded at home watching terribly executed fight scenes."

"There's nothing good out right now anyway, I'm fine," Zack stated emotionlessly, giving him a fleeting glance before his eyes were back focused on the television.

Phil huffed. "There's Evil Twin 26: Rise of the Duplicate Howler Monkeys, Part 2. Everyone's raving about that! Watch that!"

Zack snorted, his hand reaching blindly over to try to find his drink. "Not interested. That series has been going on for way too long, they're just making stuff up now. Do you know that series first started when Mom and Dad were kids? It's like a million years old." He took a loud gulp of his flat soda, as if to help emphasize his point.

"It's been getting a lot of publicity, though. Everyone's seeing it," Phil countered flatly.

"Oh, what? So I should just go see a movie I'm not interested in in the least just so I'll have something to talk about with all the people I don't even really like? Nah, I'm good here." Zack reached down in his shirt to pull out some loose pieces of popcorn from… who knows when. After examining the few pieces he'd dug out a couple moments, he popped them in his mouth.

Phil averted his eyes from the grotesque scene before his eyes widened and he snapped his head back with suspicious eyes and his bottom lip puffed out slightly. "What if Sophie wanted to see it…?"

Zack paused at that, blinking a couple times. "Then I'd go."

Phil gaped at his audacity. "_Why_?"

"Because she's my girlfriend." Zack shrugged, as if it were that simple.

Phil exploded off the couch, waving his arms in almost random and violent gesticulations. "_See_? This is exactly what I'm talking about! She _rules_ you! You worship at her stinking altar!"

Zack barely even flinched at his outburst. Just observed him a moment from his slumped back position, then shook his head. "No, Phil, it's not like that. We're _both_ obligated to see all the movies the other has seen. It's like an unwritten relationship code. Now move, you're blocking the TV."

Phil ignored the last part. "Oh, you mean like last week when you wanted to watch 'The Abdicator,' and she was all, 'Ohhh, no, I don't want to see _that_. It's _much_ too violent. Let's watch 'Fluffy Bunnies of Love' instead.' " He batted his eyelashes, before his face went flat. "_And then you gave in._ Didn't even _try_ to fight it. You sicken me."

Zack raised half his eyebrow at him. " 'Fluffy Bunnies of Love'? It was Casablanca, Crazy."

"Same thing!"

Zack opened his mouth to protest, but then paused. He stared at him a few moments before closing his mouth and turning his uninterested eyes back to the TV. "Okay, you're basically right." Turning to face him once more, he said, "But I didn't give in, okay? Relationships are just about give-and-take is all."

"Oh?" Phil asked sarcastically, crossing his arms. "I see, the 'I give, she takes' system. _Right_."

"No, she gives too."

"Oh really? And what does she give?"

Zack stared at him a long while, his eyes wide. Finally, he looked away, part smug, part amused. "Oh, she gives, you'll just have to trust me."

Phil gawked, before pointing a long, dramatic finger at him. "You slut bag!"

Zack's eyes snapped back to him, alarmed. "Phil! How—"

"Oh, what, how could I not know about that stuff when I have _our_ parents?" He shuddered.

Zack stared at him, before a smirk graced his face. Not a tired, wary smirk. A true, strong, positively amused smirk, the Zack Shortman type that was so sinful it could make preachers everywhere feel suddenly chilled. "Good points you raise…" he frowned then, instantly switching gears, "but you're wrong, we just make out."

Phil stared at him, confused. "Uh, yeah, duh, what else could you do?"

Zack stared back at him. "Uh… the _other_ thing…?"

Phil blinked. "What other thing?"

Zack remained utterly baffled for a few moments more, before it finally clicked in his head that his brother actually _didn't_ know. He suddenly burst into a grin and found himself having to hold back a pitch of laughter, and did so by waving his hand at his brother and turning his head away so he couldn't see his strained expression. "Oh, you know, just cuddling and stuff…" He sniggered. "Um, you might not want to call people 'slut bags' just for making out, though. You watch too much TV, apparently." He brought a hand to his mouth, clenching his eyes shut.

Phil gave him an odd stare before rolling his eyes. "Ugh, whatever. You're one to talk, but hey, whatever you say. I'm not saying anything." He grumbled under his breath, "Slut couch potato bag." Raising his voice back up, he said, "So _basically_, you do whatever she says just so you can…" he cringed at the words he was about to use, "_make out_?"

Zack couldn't speak. He just nodded his head.

Phil lost it. "Aha! So you _admit_ to your patheticy!"

Amanda's voice suddenly sounded from the other room. "Not a word!"

Phil growled almost savagely. "Shut up, Amanda!" Turning his attention back to Zack, he started once more, his tone loud and exaggerated, "Can't you see how idiotic that girl makes you act? You're willing to throw away your entire day, your entire _weekend_, just to please her! She's _enslaved_ you! You're no longer Zachary Shortman! You're Mrs. Zachary Sophie Carpenter! _Carpenter_! Your free thinking has been sucked out of you at the hand of romance! You have sold your very _soul_ to the devil!"

Zack, having finally turned to look at him with a straight face, eyed him up and down with a small smile. "Yeah, well… considering a hundred years ago that's what we did to them, I figure they're just getting payback." He shrugged, smirking. "They're not really in control, we just let them think they are to appease them."

Phil snorted loudly, eyes jetting upwards. "Oh, please! You do not. Maybe that's what you tell yourself, but I've seen you around her. You're a total baby, always making googly eyes and saying yes to whatever she wants. And it's not just you, it's _every_one! Mom does the same thing to Dad. It's like they… they have this weird spell they put over you that turns you into buffoons." He twisted his face in disgusted fascination, as if he was speaking of frog dissection.

Zack just stared at him, an odd mix of weirded out and amused spread across his face. He stared at him for a little while longer before sputtering out a sort of guffaw and snort, and pulling out his handy dandy sunglasses from his over shirt pocket. He fiddled with them in his hands a little as he shook his head pitifully. "Oh, Phillip… Poor, young, naïve, child-like Phillip…" The glasses slid in a glided motion over onto his eyes, and he rose swiftly from his seat to tower over the young boy, his arms crossed with the broadest of smirks spreading over his face. "I'm a heartbreaker. You need not worry about me." He popped his collar up then and smoothed his hair back. "But you are right about one thing, little brother… I may be grounded, but, that doesn't mean I can't still have some _fun_." And just like that, he was out of the room, the television and his exhaustion a distant memory.

Phil stared after him, his jaw dropped at the preposterous scene he'd just beheld. Finally, though, he sighed and shook his head, surrendering to reason. "There's no helping him, Phil. He's gone. He may be in denial now, but… in thirty years he'll be stuck in a dead-end marriage hypnotized by one of those witches, with ten kids and ten cats… and you? Well, you'll be famous and signing your name in a concrete square in Hollywood." He grinned. "And Phil, well… you're just going to have to accept that." Sighing contently, he plopped down into the now happily vacated couch, grabbed the clicker, and switched the channel to something more appealing… like Casablanca.

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><p><strong>AN**: o_0 Yeah, well… That's Phil for ya. xD He is NOT well in the head. And… maybe I thought it'd be funny if the most amazing power couple in the history of ever had a kid that hated romance. XD *Shrugs* Sue me… No, don't really, my lawyer's a cardboard cut-out of Bruce Lee, and even in cardboard form, he'll kick your lawyer's butt and make you wish you never crossed les meh. HAHA. (I chose Bruce Lee because he is clearly superior to Chuck Norris… Seriously, look it up. XD)

Next up will be the introduction of "Josh," but it's kind of cheaty, lol. It's in the process of being written, but it's decided it wants to be a long son of an ape, so it's really more about the _entire_ family than just "Josh" (I'm using air-quotes for a specific reason, you'll find out why in the next chapter). Also, for anyone who liked this, I wrote a drabble kinda reminiscent of this that I'm gonna post in "**Dabbling in Drabbles**." Not sure quite when, but go on and read that once it's up if you like. It's titled "Poison." Watch for it. And well, yeah, guess that's it. I'm tired.

I've got dead head at the moment. It's almost eleven. Bed is whispering secrets of true love and warmth, so I'm going now. You know how hard it is to refuse Bed.

Waking up to reviews would be lovely… :)))

_**REVIEW!**_


	4. A Wacky but Loveable Family

**A/N**: I like apricots. *Shrugs* You all knew this was coming, so I'm not sure what to say.

"Amanda please! Amanda please! Amanda plea—"

*Violently murders her with stick covered in peanut butter*

…What? I have a heart! I was considerate enough to kill her with something sweet… XD I mean, I know that when I die, I'd like very much for it to be with a stick covered in smooth, creamy peanut butter. It'd be a delicious way to die. Just remember to bury me with a bottle of jelly as well… Preferably strawberry! Or mayhaps grape. Hm. Food for thought. *Giggles* Pun.

Read already before I have a chance to talk more! DX

**Disclaimer**: Anyone ever had one of these Gridlock energy drinks before? They're fantastic! They're like one of those little fruity drinks at bars, but minus the alcohol and dumbness, plus a cooler name. …Oh, and I don't own the show. Or whatever. *Sips energy drink* Yep.

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><p><strong>A Wacky but Loveable Family<strong>

"Why are geniuses always evil?" a young brown-haired boy asked suddenly, an eyebrow raised at the television broadcasting it's ritualistic Saturday morning cartoons. The screen blinked and stuttered as the animated characters battled with each other, maniacal laughter and lasers sounding in a seemingly random sequence.

The question was directed at his older brother; a tall, slightly lanky looking fellow stretched out on the other side of the couch, with bright messy blond locks and eyes as deeply blue as the ocean, being seemingly sheltered under a broad black monobrow. He kept his lazy eyes trained on the ceiling, uninterested in the rerun of his youth playing on the monotonous box. The teen snorted at the question, a smile stretched out across his thin lips. "I have no idea, Philly cheesesteak. I guess 'cause they just think it's more fun. The chicks dig it, too."

The young preteen glared at him, his irritation apparent. He didn't bother correcting the loathsome nickname, though, knowing arguing with the great 'legend in his own mind' Zachary Shortman was useless.

A petite young girl sprawled on her stomach across the rug turned her head to observe them, blinking her big innocent eyes. An unexpected dogmatism passed over her features then, and she stated matter-of-factly in a voice that could melt Jack Frost himself, "Well, I think it's because high intelligence levels leave so little room for innocence, that they're overwhelmed with all the problems and ugliness of the world, so they resort to violence and feel the need to destroy." She smiled sweetly.

The elder of the three stared at her, while Phil just kept his green eyes on the TV, his expression blank. "That's nice, 'manda," the brunette muttered disinterestedly.

The young seven-year-old just blinked at him in response. "I don't like this show," she pouted after a moment, voicing her thoughts. "Can't we change it to the Squiggles? I saw it was on before you stole the remote." Her brows knitted together at the memory.

"That's nice, 'manda," Phil muttered once more in the same tone, still not looking at her.

Zack sat up and whacked the young boy on the head with an amused quirk of his lips. "Honestly, Phil, you're much too charming for your own good. Look out _ladies_." He chuckled loud and clear, never afraid to let his amusement be known.

Phil scowled, rubbing the side of his head where he'd been struck, unimpressed with his sibling's sarcastic quip. "Please! The day Phillip Shortman falls for any dumb girl is the day pigs sprout wings and fly—"

"OOOOWHEEEEE!" came a sudden yell, as their grandmother came streaking through the middle of the den, hoisting a very old and beleaguered looking pig through the air. "Captain's log: we've been sucked into a very strange, new realm of space, where mutant farm animals fly side-by-side with the stars themselves! We'll have to take evasive actions! If worse comes to worse, we'll be forced to feast our ways out of the strange beasts. Lieutenant! Fire up the space oven! We're having pork tonight!" A maniacal cackle ripped through the air, stunting the three youngins in the room.

"Pookie!" an old, tired voice moaned from the other room, before stepping inside the room to properly chastise her. He was as bony as a skeleton, his facial features old and worn with age, and wrinkles that appeared to have several sets of wrinkles on themselves. Despite his obvious seniority, though, his features were as warm and alive as a man of twenty, and that spring he'd undoubtedly always had was still as active as ever. He would whine and act as if he really felt as old as he looked to scare people, but everyone knew he was really a spring chicken. He continued as he made his way towards his more eccentric counterpart, "I hardly think poor Abner's up for anymore of your little adventures. There'll be plenty of time to cook him up later." He sniggered, mindful of the youth in the room. It was hard not to be with his grandson always on his tail.

Old Gertie's appearance wasn't much different in contrast, except for her shoulder-length gray hair held up in a neat, perky little ponytail. Her eyes sparkled mischievously back at her husband, that usual crazed glint whispering just below the surface. She brought Abner down to hold at her waist. "Now come on, Lieutenant, that's no way to talk when we're under attack by swine soaring plum through asteroids as if they're made of custard. There's no time to dilly-dally! We must make haste!" With this said, the old woman set the poor old hog down by Amanda and bounded out of the room.

Phil just shook his head at the scene, his bony fingers resting on his hips. "Crazy old bird'll never change."

Zack raised a smug eyebrow at the younger Phil by his side, to which Phil responded with a shrug and a twirl of his finger near his cranium, his emerald eyes rolling full circle in his head.

Amanda just grinned and scratched Abner behind the ear, causing the old, fat pig to almost instantly fall over onto his side and close his eyes with his little mouth hanging open in pleasure. She took advantage of this in just the way he wanted and began rubbing his belly, causing his springy little tail to wag almost like a dog's might.

"Oh, hello, kids," the elder Phil greeted, turning to them with a half grin. "Sorry I've been so busy most of the morning during your visit, but you know, I have a boarding house full of free-loading ninnies." He rolled his eyes slightly and grumbled quietly to himself, "And after thirty years you'd have thought they'd've moved on by now." He clapped his hands together then, the grin back on his face as quick as a whip. "But I'm here now! Wha'dya say we turn off the TV and take a nice trip to the park?"

All three kids stared up at him with blank faces, looking completely unenthused at the foreign prospect of turning _off_ the television in favor of going _outside_.

Phil stared at them a few moments longer before the excitement trickled from his features and he let out an exaggerated sigh, his eyes shifting to the Heavens. "Kids today, I swear," he mumbled. Something caught his attention then and he blinked. "Hey, what happened to the other blond one? I could've sworn there were four of ya." He scratched his blotchy head, an eyebrow cocked.

Zack nimbly answered before Phillip could get a word out with his already half-open mouth, his features relaxed and his feet propped on the coffee table. "Josh retired to the little girl's room a while ago and has yet to return, Philly cheesesteak. I've been worried he may have fallen in."

A grin split the ancient grandfather's face. "Philly cheesesteak?" A guffaw sounded from the old coot and he slapped his knee. "That's a good one! Pookie'd get a hoot outta that! Makes me suddenly a bit peckish, though…" He scratched his chin, seeming thoughtful now.

A smug smirk ripped instantly across Zack's mouth as he grabbed his little bro to him and made a grand gesture towards their great-granddad with his free hand. "See? He likes it! The idol has made his deliberations on the matter—you must obey his command or be thrown into the lava pit!"

Phil repelled away in horror at being so unexpectedly touched, and ended up slipping off the couch and onto the floor with an, "_Oof!_" He sputtered in disbelief as both his great-grandfather and older brother burst into raucous laughter together, holding their heads and stomachs at the slight pain caused by the intense action. Even Amanda had to let out a laugh at Phil's overreaction.

"O-Okay, first of all," the preteen began loudly over the laughing, looking as irritated and scandalized as his temper allowed without completely losing it, "d-don't touch me! Like, ever again! A-And second of all, just because we have the same name doesn't mean we're going to like the same things. I still think it's uncouth and… and… just dumb!" He crossed his arms and lowered his head, trying to hide his reddening face from his still strongly laughing crowd.

"Criminy, Phil, whatever you say! But was the soaring halfway across the room just from my mere touch really necessary? That was dramatic even for you!" Zack slapped a hand across his forehead, another round of howling laughs bubbling up from deep in his throat.

Phil just sputtered again for a few more seconds before an actual sentence somehow managed to be squashed together and pushed through his mouth, "N-Now see here—"

"What did I miss?" a tall, broad-shouldered, football headed young man asked suddenly from the doorway, having come back from the bathroom to witness everyone practically rolling around on the floor.

The fourteen-year-old teenager was legally documented as Joshua Abraham Miles Shortman. Having a distinct dislike for his first name, though, he made many the effort to have everyone in his life simply call him "Ham." Of course, Zack was the untrainable sort and still called him Josh no matter what he wanted, and had even once gone as far as to state outright, "There is no way I'm referring to my little brother as a deli product, at least not if he expects me to be serious about it and not laugh my ass off every time I say it," but Ham was used to such behavior from his elder sibling, so he let it be.

His head had the unmistakable impression of a football, though thankfully not quite as pronounced as his father's, and hair just as wildly golden as the man before him, though his eyes were a wide, alert blue instead of green. Although Zack was older than him, one wouldn't be able to guess it with the two right next to each other. Though Zack had a good few inches on him in height (as he had on _everybody_, it seemed), Ham's body was eons ahead of the playing field. Having adopted a love of weight-lifting and sports, he was a virtual plethora of muscles and strength. Classified as the quintessential "Golden Boy" of H.S. 117, everyone loved him, and though he tried to accept the attention with all the grace and humbleness of his father before him, he'd be lying if he said he didn't soak it in like a sponge.

His home life wasn't exactly his element. He didn't feel that he really fit. What with Zack filling his role as the essential King of the House, Phil with his laid-back sarcastic indifference of everything yet always finding excuses to play a more melodramatic (lunatic) version of himself, and Amanda being… well, perfect, where did he fit in?

Nonetheless, this was his family that he belonged in, roaring in laughter with Zack nearly falling off the couch, Grandpa looking like he was practically on the verge of having a seizure, Amanda in a fit of giggles, and Phil sitting erect on the floor with a desperate expression directed towards him. He mouthed, "Help me."

Ham offered a wary smile in sympathy, still too confused to know how he could possibly help with the situation.

"Um, I repeat: _what_ did I miss?" he raised his voice, walking deeper into the room, an eyebrow raised in pure befuddlement.

"O-Oh, you had to be there, you had to be there," Zack managed to throw out of his mouth, a hand over his eyes as he continued to chuckle

Amanda beamed brightly up at Ham, her little blonde pigtails bouncing as she turned her head. "Phil freaked out because Zack touched him and he still believes in cooties."

Phil's jaw ditched the rest of his skull and hit the floor, and he stammered a second in protest before doing a double take and scowling. "I do not!"

Amanda just gazed at him in innocent confusion, blinking her big gumdrop eyes. "But you said earlier that girls were dumb, but I'm a girl and you know I'm not dumb. So doesn't that mean you're just afraid of cooties?"

Zack broke out into another peal of laughter at hearing this, and Grandpa settled on a light chuckle, still recovering from his previous laughing fit, patting Amanda on the head for her decisive conclusion.

Phil just stared at her with his mouth agape for a few more seconds before he finally just harrumphed, shooting up stalk straight in a startling motion to march self-righteously out of the room, proclaiming with a finger raised high in the air, "I do not have to take this! I am Phillip Alfonso Christopher Craig Demerits Pataki-Shortman, future actor, director, and writer! Oh, sure, I'm laughed at now, but I will take this, this, _this_, _abominable_ over-display of egotisticalism and cutesy naiveté, and rebirth it into art! You just wait!" He turned sharply around just as he reached the doorway, the bright green of his eyes only just barely visible through the slits of his eyes. "You just wait…"

Zack, the unrelentingly entertained expression on his face now reaching levels so high he looked downright giddy, grinned as he sat up in his seat, correcting his delirious little brother, "Sorry to burst your over-dramatic little bubble, baby bro, but that's not your name. Mom and Dad actually wanted us to have dignity, remember? And not have our lunches stolen every day?"

"Not yet, you mean!" Phil retorted shortly, glaring at him.

"Oh, so you're planning on getting your lunch stolen—" Zack tried, grinning.

"Shut up!" Phil interrupted in an angry exclamation.

Ham coughed a couple times to hide the small snicker that had escaped his lips, trying to hide his grin behind his tanned fist. "Uh, Phil, Alfonso sounds a lot like a butler's name—"

"Silence, pig!" Phil thundered.

Abner gazed at him in confusion at the command, having been quiet ever since his arrival in the family room. Amanda stood up from the floor and clasped her hands behind her back neatly, stating guilelessly, "Not to overstep my bounds when you're going koo-koo, but egotisticalism isn't actually a word—"

"Stop questioning me! I have spoken!" Phil yelled out one final time, before racing out of the room and his feet being heard pounding up the stairs, undoubtedly heading to the attic to conceal himself away in their secret hideout for a few hours, behind their dad's hundred-year-old flip out couch.

The much elder and arguably wiser Phillip Shortman just watched this all take place with a growingly dispirited countenance, a sigh slipping out through his wrinkled old lips. "I hate it when he does that. He's making Phils everywhere look like fruitcakes."

Zack stood up and walked over to pat his great grandfather on the back. "Ah, look on the bright side, Grandpap. I'm sure one day he'll be able to catch up with your fruitcake record."

Phil stared at him for a couple seconds before cackling, throwing his arm around the equally tall teen. "Always with the jokes, this one. Well, you are right about that! He's certainly going to be a crazy old coot. Just like his great old grandpa." He chuckled, hooking the insides of his thumbs in his suspender straps and stretching them out proudly.

It was no secret that he had had his eyes closely trained to the offspring of Arnold and Helga Shortman. After reaching the raisin-y old age of ninety-four, Phil came to the conclusion Gertie and himself had put off retirement long enough, and made arrangements for a fancy retirement home in palm beach where they could live out their last years in peace and sunshine. Arnold, not wanting him to sell the boarding house and put all the boarders out on the street (even if Phil would have delighted in doing so), convinced him to let him take care of the boarding house instead. Phil tried to talk him out of it, but there was no getting through that thick football shaped skull of his, so he eventually complied.

After three years living in the lapse of luxury, Phil started to realize that in missing out on his grandson's first two children being born, he was also losing his chance to fulfill his lifelong fatherhood dream (again): to have a grandchild named after him for being the greatest, most amazing, handsome and inexplicably charming dad in the entire world. So he cut retirement short, made an excuse that it was just too boring there (when in truth it was fabulous), and took control of the boarding house again. It was a sacrifice he'd had to make in order to finally have his protégé, lest the world suffer anymore Phil-less years in the future.

So when a baby popped out with unmistakable dark brown locks and clear green eyes, looking very much like Phil when he'd been a boy himself, Arnold and Helga felt the situation was too perfect to _not_ name him after his great grandfather. Plus Phil whined and cried about it for half an hour until they basically had no choice. The situation had snowballed from there.

In all reality, the boy's full name was Phillip Robert Craig Shortman, named also after his regular old grandfather, since Helga figured if they were going to name him after family members, they might as well cover the remainder of the bases and go for a homerun. Still, they didn't want to just copy off of everyone elses' names; they wanted him to be and feel like his own person, not just some carbon copy of his grandparents. Thus the added name "Craig," which Helga had confessed to always liking.

Phil refused to ever make any acknowledgement to the fact that he was now sharing his name with that square-headed, no good blowhard his grandson called Father-in-Law, though. He was just glad that if the boy really did go through with changing his name to that long-winded string of ridiculousness in the future, he was leaving out the "Robert" part.

Feeling encouraged from the elder's reaction, Zack added, "Yep, telling random kids on the street to never eat raspberries and everything."

Instead of another one of his great grandfather's famous slightly crazed chuckles, though, Phil just blinked and looked at him in bewilderment. "Never eat raspberries? Now why would he say that, that was what my father'd always said, and he's been dead for well over sixty years."

For possibly the first time in his entire teenage life, Zack was left speechless. He just stared at him, leaning slightly back as if he was trying to figure out if he was serious. Amanda and Ham were doing about the same thing, just staring at him.

"Uh," Ham started, seeing as nobody else really knew how to respond, "well, you say that all the time, Grandpa Phil…"

"I do?" he asked cluelessly, raising an eyebrow. His eyes slowly began to grow in size as realization dawned on him, before the fuse finally reached the explosives. "Jiminy Cricket! I do, don't I?" He spluttered in distress a few moments, grasping at the nonexistent hairs on his head. "Unbelievable! I've turned into my father! Why, I, I, I…" He eyed the three worried faces of his great grandchildren for several long moments before a slow titter quietly began to rise from his throat. It grew and evolved over the next few seconds before he was full-on belly laughing, his hands resting on his slight protruding stomach. "Well, I'll be. All these years." Smiling, he just shook his head in wonder.

Luckily the kids were saved from having to respond by the sound of the front door opening and closing, along with large, heavy footsteps sounding their way up the hall. "Grandpa? Kids?"

Amanda was the first one out the door, the sheer force of her exit nearly leaving the room in a whirlwind. "Daddy!" her normally soft voice screeched.

The sound of a loud, "OOF!" in a deep, slightly gravelly voice confirmed splashdown, and the, "Oh, hey, Sweetheart," relieved the public with the news of it being a safe landing.

"Dad?" both Zack and Ham asked at the same time. Their eyes met upon hearing the other reflect back their same query, before Zack smiled devilishly and took a sliding step over to the side table by the couch to knock on wood. "You. Me. Soda. Tomorrow." He walked out of the room then, leaving Ham to process what just happened.

"Now what is he doing here so early? He can't possibly be here to pick you up. You've only been here a few hours," Phil muttered, scratching his head.

Arnold walked into the living room right at that moment, his long brown trench coat still covering his lean, tall form, just bordering on looking a bit lanky but with strong shoulders. He wore black dress boots and worn blue jeans, the plain green button shirt showing through the unbuttoned coat. As a man of thirty-nine now, his once youthful face was now showing evident smile lines and his eyes carried light bags under them, broadcasting to the world that he was a man that was kept busy and he had no complaints. His face had a healthy tan to it, tipping off to years of sunshine. His dark blond hair was still as unruly as it could be, only now kept shorter and with many blatant attempts at taming with hair products and mousses that had over time done nothing but make it droop a tad. Although he was in no way a youthful looking man anymore, his eyes had stayed the same as ever; relaxed and a bright, vivid gumdrop green. His smile emanated warmth and kindness.

Amanda had her arms melded around his neck as he held her up, and Zack stood beside him with an inquiring expression, nearly matching his father in height. Arnold just grinned at his grandfather, before apologizing for coming so unexpectedly and explaining, "I'm just on my way to pick Helga up from Bob's store, but I left a little early so I could stop by. I had to leave so quickly this morning I didn't really get _my_ visit." He smiled, setting Amanda back down on the floor so he could step forward and envelop his old guardian in a hug.

"Arnold?" another voice called out from the hallway. "Arnold, is that you?"

Arnold turned around just in time for his aged mother to wander into sight in the doorway to the hall, and that was all the encouragement it took for Arnold to walk over and pull her into his arms next. The indeterminate scent of boarding house funk, exotic fruits shampoo and the vestige of tropical wilderness invaded his nose, and he smiled, hugging her tighter. "Hey, Mom."

He'd pried his parents from the clutches of South America many years ago, only a few weeks after his tenth birthday, and just in time for his teenage years to roll around. _Joy_.

Within the years of Arnold becoming an adult, heading off to college, getting married, and having kids of his own, though, Miles and Stella had taken full advantage of their sudden freedom. Even though Stella had breathily claimed they were "all adventured out" after returning from San Lorenzo at last, the two lifelong adventurers had begun to feel the telltale aches for excitement again after he left. They spent the next several years traveling the world, visiting every once in a while on the holidays, before they just settled back down into the boarding house for a final time. Probably.

Stella smiled at her son, kind, light blue eyes illuminating upon receiving such a warm hello. "I thought I'd heard you. What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

Arnold let go of his mom and smiled as Amanda wandered over to lean against his leg. Running a large hand through her blonde locks almost without thinking, he answered, "Just stopping by a few minutes before I pick Helga up from Bob's store."

Stella's eyes came down to rest on the calm, happy face of Amanda before flicking over to Zack's smug face as he leaned against the doorway. "Kids… Did you just bring them?" She looked at her son curiously, pleasantly surprised.

Zack interrupted his father before he could speak, a laugh underlying his words, "Nah, we've been here for _hours_. You've been asleep all morning, Gran."

Stella's eyes widened upon hearing that, a hand coming up to rest on her head as a dazed look crossed her face. "Oh, my…" She chuckled then, bringing her hand away as she shrugged helplessly with a smile. "I guess that's what happens when you get old." Kneeling down to Amanda's height, she grinned and opened her arms to her. "Hey, my favorite little explorer! Any new adventures since last week?"

Amanda fell naturally into her grandmother's arms, wrapping her smaller ones around her as she spoke with her wind chime voice, "Elli fell off her bike on Monday, and since she was right in front of me, I ended up falling too." At feeling her grandma start, she quickly said, "No it's okay!" She pulled back then, and grinned as she rolled down one of her white knee socks to show a sparkly pink band aid on her knee. "We got matching band aids! We're calling them our friendship bandages." She beamed proudly at the older woman, still delighted with the idea.

Stella grinned at the young girl and chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Very creative."

"I beg to differ," Phil grumbled as he trudged down the stairs, appearing to be back to his regular self as he observed the two with dark eyes once reaching the bottom of the stairs. His normally bright green eyes were cast a dark, emerald green in the shadowed lights of the hallway. He turned his nose up at seeing his grandma give his loathsome little sister such special attention.

Stella immediately stood upon seeing him and grinned, offering her arms out for a hug. She knew how jealous he could get sometimes, and he was looking the picture of it at that moment, his eyes quite literally green with envy and distaste. She didn't think about that though as she walked over to envelope the young boy in her arms. "Phil! You little tiger," she pulled back, still grinning, though more teasingly now, "where have you been hiding?"

Phil didn't return the hug, merely shifted towards her slightly without thinking. "Confidential information, Grandma." His eyes shifted over her shoulder then to his father, gazing at them intently, and he raised a slight eyebrow in confusion. "Dad? You're here already?" His eyes lit up then, and he perked up. "Is Mom here too? Where is she?"

Arnold chuckled at his enthusiasm and smiled. "No, I only came to stop by a few minutes before I pick her up." Raising an inquisitive eyebrow then, he asked with twinkling eyes, "Why so eager to see Mom, Phil?"

Phil spoke without thinking, excitement clear in his voice, "She said we'd be getting ice cream on the way home today—"

"Ice cream?" popped unbidden from Amanda's mouth, as her eyes instantly became round and slightly crazed. She quickly scuttled over to look Phil dead in the eye over Stella's shoulder. Stella pulled back from the embrace slightly to look at her amusingly. "Mom's getting us ice cream?" she asked again, needing him to confirm, and about ready to grab him by his collar. Phil puffed his lip out to her, eyebrows furrowed.

Ham, standing idly next to Zack, ran a hand down his face, blue eyes skyward. "Oh boy, here we go."

Zack chuckled, still leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. "Energizer bunny coming through." Standing straight then he pumped his fist up and down in a pulling motion, stating deeply with mock-serious eyes ahead, "Choo choo! All aboard the crazy train!"

"Great song," Arnold commented with a large grin, playing along with his son's joke as he held back a laugh.

"_Shut up_," Amanda bit out suddenly, silencing them all, her eyes fierce. "This is not a joking matter!"

"Oh, stick it in your ear, Blondie," Phil spat, pulling fully away from their grandmother to cross his arms over his chest and glare at her. "Don't get so excited. Mom said _we'd_ be getting ice cream to _me_. Not to you. _Me_. Who said you were coming?" He huffed.

Amanda's eyes widened, a light green meadow now in clear view with rain just starting to trickle down.

Arnold's eyes instantly went to the size of dinner plates and he bounded forward to scoop her up in his arms, rubbing comforting circles into her back as he gave a disapproving look to Phil. "Now, Phillip, that's no way to talk to your little sister. Of course we'd _all_ be going to get ice cream." He gave a concerned look to Amanda as she welded her arms around his neck once more.

Phil groaned exaggeratedly, wringing his hands angrily in front of himself. "You always take her side!"

"Now, young Phil," Grandpa Phil came forward from where he'd been watching all this unfold, kneeling down on his bony knees to address his young protégé, "you always must remember to treat young ladies with respect." Rubbing his head where he'd received countless bumps and bruises in his lifetime, he said almost dazedly as flashes of ball bats and flying plates ran through his mind, "Trust me, I've made the mistake of crossing women before, and it's not one I plan on ever making again if I can help it." Grasping the boy tightly by his shoulders then, serious, desperate green eyes reflected in the same green eyes of the startled young Phil. "Save yourself while you can!"

"Grandpa," Arnold said dryly, his eyes having gone wryly half-lidded at witnessing this.

The ancient man just snapped his eyes up to Arnold, still wide. He said in a wry tone of his own, matter-of-factly, "Now don't go trying to deny that you haven't learned the exact same lesson countless times! It's good to warn the boy before he makes the same mistakes we did."

Arnold made to roll his eyes at first, but then images of ear-splitting screams, flying encyclopedias, steaming cups of coffee being dumped on his lap, ice being poured down his back, helmets being slapped on his head before he was suddenly thrown down stairs, and countless other terrible incidents that he didn't ever want to relive flew through his mind. With a shiver, he suddenly found himself clenching his eyes shut and agreeing with a hearty series of nods.

"Dad," Ham softly spoke to him in surprise, stretching his neck slightly to look him in the face, "I didn't know you and Mom ever fought."

Zack suddenly burst out into laughter and slapped a hand on Ham's shoulder, grinning. "Oh, criminy, I remember this one time when I was a little kid—I think you were around one at the time—Dad told Mom to shut up and relax because she was all stressed out about her new book or something, and Mom went berserk! Opened up the world's biggest can of whip-ass on him."

"Language," Arnold scolded as he cut his eyes at his eldest.

Zack cast his dad a brief flat look before looking back to Ham with a grin. "She threw the toaster at him!"

Ham's eyes went their largest and he sputtered a moment before saying, "She _what_?"

Zack nodded jubilantly, mirth shining in his eyes. "You heard right! The toaster. It landed in the dish water, though, and _holy crap, _that's the entire reason I remember it—it like exploded and burst into flames right there, nearly burnt the house down! Dad put out the kitchen curtains with the fire extinguisher before it did any real damage, but ever since then I can't remember Mom and Dad ever really fighting." Zack looked over at his father, still grinning.

Arnold sighed audibly, avoiding his little girl's wide-eyed gaze as he supported her with one arm and ran his free hand over his forehead. He breathed wearily, almost haunted-sounding, "The toaster incident. Oh, it's been so long."

Phil raised an eyebrow at him, making a comment that made both Ham and Zack have to share a look, Ham's one of surprise and Zack's one of raw joy. "You have a name for it?"

The hallway was silent for several moments, as Stella and Grandpa Phil both shared an amused look, before Arnold suddenly stated with energy, "All righty then!" Setting Amanda down, he swiftly straightened himself back out and grinned too big at his family. "Well, that's visit enough, I think. I'd better get going to pick up your mother." Already taking measured steps towards the door, he spoke to his grandpa and mother, "I'll be back to pick up the kids in a few hours, for ice cream, _all of us_." He shot a stern look at Phillip, though much softer than it had been before. "Helga and I have some errands we still need to run—"

"I'm sure you do." Grandpa's eyes sparkled mischievously, standing upright now.

Tripping slightly at Phil's implications, Arnold caught himself quick enough before enclosing a hand over the doorknob as he cleared his throat, not making eye contact. "Yes, well… Tell Dad I said hi when he wakes up."

"Will do, Sweetheart," Stella said sweetly, her own light blue eyes shining with an amusement all her own.

"Good, good. Bye, kids! Love you!" Four pairs of eyes watched as their usually composed and calm father bumbled and stuttered his way out the door, waving a hand at them as he closed the door and accidentally caught his fingers as it closed. Yelp muffled, the fingers disappeared after a moment and the door closed with a soft click.

"Love you too!" Amanda shouted hastily as the door closed, already beginning to miss his comforting and warm presence.

With a leftover chuckle, Zack ran a hand over a cheek and shook his head. "Our dad's nuts."

"Nuts like nuts on ice cream," Amanda muttered with a pout, marching away back into the living room with her head bowed low.

Zack found himself following after her, concern gripping at him for his only sister. "Hey, 'manda Faith, wait up for old Zacky!"

Young Phil ignored all this and sighed, bringing a hand to his face in exasperation. He didn't even say anything; just turned around and clunked his way back up the stairs, intent on stashing himself away in the back of the couch for the next three hours.

Ham observed all this with a blink before throwing his eyes over to his grandparents, a genuine smile lighting up his face for once. He may not have exactly fit in with his over-the-top siblings, but he fit in perfectly with his closest descending grandparents, often delighting in their stories of mystery and adventure and near-death thrills. Taking a step over to stand closer to Stella, Ham said musingly, "I don't remember getting my hug."

Stella looked over at him with realization before a warm smile lit up her face. She didn't offer her hug, she just came forward and gave it to him, to which he happily returned. "Aww, how could I ever forget?"

"Heck if I know," Ham said with a familial mumble, before pulling back to bestow one of his perfect smiles on her, lighting up his healthily tanned face like the sun. "It's been all I've thought of since we got here."

Stella chuckled, a hand unconsciously coming up to rub her shoulder a little from his unintentionally strong hug. Eyeing him then, she asked jokingly, "I suppose you still expect me to call you Ham?"

Ham sighed out a light laugh, nudging her as he said in a no-duh way, "You know you and Grandpa can call me whatever you want."

A tall, graying man with broad, pronounced shoulders wandered over suddenly, catching them off guard. "Miles it is then!" the man declared, grinning broadly.

Stella looked startled a moment before she gaped at her husband and slapped him over the shoulder, her hands going to her hips. "Miles, you know better than to creep up on me!"

Miles chuckled teasingly, a smirk pulling at his thin lips. "I know, that's why I do it. You're always so touchy." He shook his head. Pressing a warm hand to her back then, he used his free hand to rub any grogginess away from his eyes as he regarded his grandson with a grin. "Hey, kiddo, I take it Arnold dropped you off?"

Ham nodded, smiling wider. "Yeah, you just missed him actually." He rolled his eyes jokingly. "He ended up spazzing out, crushed his fingers in the door and everything."

Miles chuckled, shrugging his shoulders high. "Well, what else is new?"

Stella gave a snort and pushed him away from her roughly, watching as he stumbled only slightly before seemingly tripping on dust and falling to the floor with a strange noise being forced from his mouth. Stella observed him down there with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah, he got that from Miles here. Always was a horrible klutz."

"H-Hey!" Miles said, his voice breaking slightly as he sat up and pointed at her. "You know you love that about me!" He chuckled, smiling as charmingly as he could manage at her. Which proved to be difficult when you were a man in his sixties sitting on the floor because your wife pushed on you a little. He pulled it off fair enough, though.

Stella shrugged carelessly, mocking, and tossed down to him casually, "Eh, all good things rarely come without a few defects." She smiled at her little quip, chuckle full, and her voice rich and laced with entirely too much enjoyment for something like this. She blamed it on spending a bit too much time around Gertie. "I was just willing to look past it."

Ham meanwhile was grinning like a boy in a comic book store, blue eyes twinkly as he took this all in. "Man, do you guys always rip on each other like this?"

Miles laughed deeply, rubbing his backside as he stood from the appropriately named hardwood floors. "Oh, no, she mainly just rips on me."

Stella grinned kindly, a sort of excitement dancing in her pale blue eyes as she clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "Would you like to hear a few stories of some of my better ones?" Ham looked ready to agree wholeheartedly.

"Now just hold on a cotton picking minute," Phil suddenly burst out, bounding from across the room and waving his long finger at the three. "You kids came over here for some fun, and that's just what I intend on supplying! So far all you've done is watch television and sit on your dead behinds all morning! And the last thing I'm going to let you do now is repeat the process over again for the next three hours! Don't your butts ever get sore?" He looked at the fourteen-year-old incredulously.

Before Ham could reply, Zack's voice yelled in from the other room, "No! Never! We have butts of steel!"

Ham grinned before he could help himself, and added in, looking to Phil good humouredly, "Mine's more like Titanium, it's stronger—"

"_Nerd!_" Zack hollered randomly, laughing.

Ham gave a loud snort and yelled back, "I can't help it if I'm smarter than you!"

"Dream on, pretty boy!"

"Egomaniac!"

"Teacher's pet!"

"Psychopath!"

"Straight A student!"

"That wasn't even an insult!"

"_Ohhhh yes it was_," Zack's voice came singing, loaded down with arrogance and giddiness, "because A starts with _ass, _which is what you are! A whole big report card full of 'em!"

"Okay, wow, I know _you_ of all people didn't just say that to _me_!" Ham rolled his eyes at the idea.

Zack's voice came more inquiringly this time, seeming sincere as he yelled, "Wasn't the Titanic made of Titanium?"

Ham spoke without thinking, "No, it was steel and iron—"

"_Nerd! _I rest my case!"

Ham groaned and ran a hand through his eternally disheveled hair, listening as Zack's smug laughter filled his ears along with even Stella, Miles, and Phil's amused chortles. He should have known better than to try to best Zack. He was his big brother after all, he had a good two—almost three, even—years on him. Of course he wasn't easily outwitted. He'd begun warming up and writing down jokes before he was even born, he'd _planned_ for moments like these, had cue cards stashed away in his over shirt. You couldn't win against that kind of dedication. "Yeah, that's the reason," the young teen mumbled to himself, sighing quietly.

Phil sighed out one last chuckle before patting the teen on the back, smiling knowingly with amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ah, don't worry, Hammy boy, you'll get him one day." Leaning over then, he whispered mischievously, "I'll even help you out one of these days." Just as a grin split across Ham's face, Phil pulled back and clapped his hands together. "But right now we're going for a picnic! Outside, sunshine, grass, trees and all!"

Zack bounced into the room right at that moment, waving a finger in the air in protest. "No! We'll surely die, Phil especially! You know how the little warlock gets when sunshine hits him—he starts hissing, his toes curl, he starts hopping on one foot, his head spins around—"

"Yeah," Amanda said, wandering into the room and pulling at her fresh, clean white knee socks self-consciously, "and I don't want to get my socks all dirty."

"Oh, don't be such a priss, 'manda!" Phil's voice came suddenly from above, and they all looked up to see him leaning over the railing of the stairs, glaring down at them.

Zack grinned, eyes narrowing in amusement as he stared up at his youngest brother. "Phil, you didn't say a thing!"

Phil rolled his eyes, understanding what he meant, and snarled humorlessly, "Oh, please, I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

"No, no, really now," the elder Phil began, interrupting them and waving his hands in a downward motion to calm them, "it'll be fun! Some fresh air is just what you crazy kids need. We'll play some stick ball, catch—and I'll bring some marbles for you, Amanda," he added as he saw her mouth open again. She closed it then, not really agreeing but looking more interested now. Encouraged, Phil continued, "I'll have Pookie pack some pastrami sandwiches, Yahoos, prune cookies—"

"And watermelon!" Gertie suddenly cackled, wandering in from the kitchen with a big plate of chopped up watermelon.

Phil's face turned visibly green.

Ham twisted his face in disgust, sharing a look with his siblings. "Prune cookies? Really?"

"It's better than raspberries," young Phil added his two cents from the stairs above with a shrug, thinking back to all the times his grandpa had warned him of the deadly fruit.

Amanda ended up smiling at her great-grandmother, grabbing her pink dress in her hands. "I like watermelon," she said happily, swaying her dress a little with her hands as she rocked on her feet, the sweet smell of freshly chopped watermelon filling the air and making her smile grow.

Phil quickly hushed her with a bony finger over her lips, though, shaking his head vigorously in panic. "Shhh, don't encourage her!"

"Watermelon it is then!" Gertie declared with delight, making Phil slap a hand over his forehead and groan.

"Well, I think it's a great idea, Dad," Miles commented, eyeing the kids happily. "They could use a little true excitement in their lives for once. All this domestic living's spoiled them."

"Not me," Ham muttered to them discreetly, in reference to the many sports he participated in on a regular basis. The last thing he ever wanted was his two role models thinking he was lazy. Their assuring, yet slightly disapproving smiles made him feel better and sheepish at the same time, and he just shrugged lightly, adding, "Just saying."

Zack did a weird sort of snort and scoff at the same time, causing his eyes to bolt open suddenly and him have to sputter out a series of phlegmy coughs. Eyes tearing up, he wheezed, "Shouldn't have done that…" Shaking his head, he smiled and said weakly, hand rubbing his throat, "I'd just like to have it on record that I denied ever being lazy."

Young Phillip stepped down the stairs self-importantly, before stopping at the bottom and putting a hand on one hip as he gave Zack a dry, half-lidded stare. "And I'd just like to have it on record that if I _was_ a warlock, I'd have turned Zack into a toad a long time ago," he droned sarcastically.

Zack smirked devilishly, jutting his chin up at him. "The power of epicness compels you. Be gone, beast."

Giggle tinkling gently off the walls, Amanda came forward to grab Zack's hand and pull him down to her level, which he did so willingly and with a curious smile. Amanda grinned at him, casting a look in the direction of the rest of her family. "I think I'd like to go to the park now that I think about it, as long as you carry me on your shoulders over any dirty parts." She looked at him with her big, bright eyes, the dim fluorescent lighting clinging to the irises and making them sparkle.

Zack stared at her a second, before inevitably he shrugged and nodded his head with a short sigh. "Okay, fine, reign in the puppy dog eyes, Faith. You win." Standing upright again, he rubbed his hands together and stated largely, ready to rock and roll, "Well, you heard the lady! The park it is. Come on, hens, I'll help you pack."

Phillip groaned at this development, watching as everyone began scuttling about getting ready, and ran a hand roughly through his dark locks with his eyes clenching shut. "This is going to _suck_."

* * *

><p>"Psssst…" an extremely short, balding man uttered, eyes darting back and forth as he peeked through his slightly ajar door. "Are they gone?"<p>

"I think so," a heavily accented Vietnamese man answered quietly, peeking his head through his own door across the hall.

A strange, whiny accent sounded then, as a door burst open and out came a fat, wrinkling middle-aged man looking frustrated. "They had better be! I'm _starving_!"

The short man growled fiercely. "Kokoschka, you numbskull! Get back inside before anyone sees you!"

Oskar shook his head at them, walking down the hall towards the staircase, grin picking up on his face. "Eh-heh-heh, _why_? Nobody is home! The house is quiet, that proves it!" He threw his arms out in triumph, just as his stomach rumbled.

Mr. Hyunh stepped outside of his room cautiously, big eyes looking around himself. "I think he is right. No kids home. It is… much too peaceful!"

"PHEW!" Ernie suddenly burst out, stepping out of his room and whipping a hand across his forehead in relief. "I thought those crazy kids would never leave! Man, who thought Arnold would spawn such trouble makers?"

"It's that mean Helga girl," Kokoschka said with a twist of his mouth, making his way down the stairs towards the kitchen as the other two followed after him. "I knew she was no good from the moment she ate the last turkey leg!"

"Agghh," Ernie waved him off, beginning to root through the refrigerator as Oskar ransacked the cabinets. "I always liked Helga, she's got moxie. But those kids…" He shook his head to the ceiling. "Crazy!"

"The grandpa one scares me! He is very creepy!" Mr. Hyunh said with a disturbed look, thinking of all the times he'd seen Phil sitting so quietly in his chair at the dinner table with that dark, disinterested look in his eye, barely eating his food and just staring at everyone.

Ernie laughed, a deep, gravelly sound, as his teeth ripped into a cold leg of leftover chicken. He spoke with his mouth full, "It's not that I don't like the kids, they're just too excitable. It's always chaos with them, ya know? Never a moment's peace." He wiped away some crumbs from his mouth with his arm, looking over to Oskar. "Hey, pass the sauce, will ya?"

Oskar looked at him wide-eyed, seeming almost offended, and hoarded the ketchup away to himself, holding it much like one might an infant. "No, there's only a little bit left, and I need it for my meatloaf."

Ernie scoffed, waving his stick of chicken at him angrily. "Don't be so selfish, Kokoschka! Remember what your marriage counselor said—"

"Yes!" Mr. Hyunh burst, turning away from the pot of water he'd just put on the stove to glare at Oskar. "Stop thinking so much, about yourself! Share! I need some ketchup for my noodles!"

Oskar clenched his eyes shut and visibly trembled, before opening them again and shaking his head, whining, "No, no, this is different, really. There is only enough ketchup for one person, eh-heh-heh-heh—"

"You no good rat, I knew you'd never change!"

"No, I have changed! If Suzie wants the ketchup, she can have the ketchup. The counselor said nothing about sharing with anyone else, though." He quivered slightly, his smile shining crookedly at them with a nervous air, truly feeling like he'd found the loophole. He half-laughed through his teeth.

Ernie and Hyunh rounded in on him, both with equal looks of anger, and Oskar crept backwards abashedly, still clutching the ketchup bottle. "Awww, come on, guys, don't—"

A fight broke out right then and there, bottle flying out of his hands and clear across the room, as the three men scrapped with each other, fits flying and legs kicking, whiny cries resonating throughout the modest kitchen.

The front door opened suddenly, Zack walking in with his family on his heels. His spirited grin vanished as soon as his wide eyes landed on the screaming adults in the kitchen, just in view through the doorway, and he quickly pushed his siblings out the front door again, yelling, "Out! Out! The crazies are at it again!" The door slammed shut shortly after, the three furious men none-the-wiser as they all made a grab for the ketchup bottle and ended up banging heads, stars bursting before their eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **OMG OMG OMG! Okay, I MUST share now! :D So, like, I decided one of Amanda's best friends was going to be Harold and Patty's daughter, but I was lazy in picking out a name so I just looked up the voice actress that played Patty. Her name was Danielle, so I was like, "Sweeeet, my laziness is pleased." But that's a LONG name. XD It needed a nickname, so I figured right of the bat, Elli, right? But I wanted to make sure that was a legitimate way to spell it, because I'm the most paranoid person in the world, so I typed "Elli definition" in my secret lover, Google. XD _AND_ THIS POPPED UP:

**Web definitions:** (Norse mythology) goddess of old age who defeated Thor in a wrestling match.

*Bites lip to keep from screaming* How freaking PERFECT IS THAT? HELLO! Harold is Thor, Patty's the old goddess chick who beat him! That is hilarious! _Oh_, yeah, this calls for a dance party. X3 You're all invited. Walmart parking lot, out back, 2 o'clock in the AM. Be there, or be triangular… Squares are awesome, I don't care what anyone says. But triangles suck. It's just a fact, people.

I have fun with these characters… I do. Indeed, indeed, I do, I do, I do. But not that type of 'I do,' I'm just not ready for that kind of commitment. Dx

I'LL STOP RAMBLING NOW, I PROMISE D:

…Donuts. :D

_**REVIEW!**_


	5. Parental Control

**A/N:** Random update is random. Life is odd like that. Always throwing things at you that you didn't expect. Like a penguin. To the jaw. That's always disconcerting.

On a weird note, I keep noticing people are spelling Zack's name "Zach" in their reviews. o_0 Are… Are you trying to tell me something? Do you know something I don't? Because if you do, for the love of all that is rich and creamy, stop hinting and tell me. *Rolls on the floor whining and clutching ice cream container*

A much more pleasant note will be at the end of this—because if you must start out whiny, be sure to have something good to end with, otherwise you have added _nothing_ to the universe, haha. Enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer:** *Boogy time* I—own—everythin.' All the kids are mine. They came from my brain. Which explains why this fic is such a wreck, bwaha. But I don't own any of Craig B's characters, and if you're even reading this, then you know who those are. :P YOU ARE DISMISSED TO READ. GTFO.

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><p><strong>Parental Control<strong>

* * *

><p>"Come <em>on<em>, _Zack_! You scrawny weak-kneed moron! Let me out!" a much shorter, brown-haired boy yelled, banging on the door again.

Zack just rolled his eyes, leaning with his palm flat against the door, his expression completely relaxed and a smirk set on his face. "_Right_, insult your captor, Philly. That'll make him want to let you go." He pretended to observe his nails nonchalantly.

There was a pause on the other side of the door then, the banging ceasing, and it was enough to make even Zack pause a moment to see what Phil was brewing. After a few more seconds, a dramatic voice suddenly cried from the other side of the door, "Zack, you're right! What am I thinking? Calling my big, much stronger and infinitely more attractive brother _scrawny _and a_ moron_? Why, the insults barely hold water in any case! You were smart enough to trap me in here in the first place, _after all_. I should really stop resisting. I'm no match for the great _Zachary Shortman_. Rebellion is pointless! Oh, woe is me! To be so weak and dim!" There was a sudden melodramatic burst of cries and rapping on the door.

Zack could just barely keep in his laughter at this display, and sighed, thoroughly entertained, before stating simply, "Don't quit your day job, kid."

There was a very distinctive huff on the other side then, the crying and banging stopping instantly. "I don't have a job," he grumbled bitterly on the other side.

"Well then get one and whatever you do, don't _ever_ quit!" Zack snickered, running a hand through his hair. "Hollywood'll chew you up then explosively vomit you back out with acting that exaggerated. Although…" Zack ran his thumb over across his eyebrow sleekly then smirked devilishly at the door, "perhaps some part's not _so_ exaggerated." He chuckled.

A snort sounded. "Oh, get _over_ yourself, Unibrow."

"The ladies _love_ the brow, little brother. You should really work on that jealousy problem you have there."

"Zack, ever heard of a little thing called '_humility_'? Dad goes on about it all the time? Ring any bells?"

Zack just laughed. "Oh, come on. There's no need for modesty when you look _this_ good. That stuff's more for the masses."

"Zack, need I remind you of a certain Texas-sized, gargantuan mole located right on your—"

"Zachary! Phillip!" a sudden booming voice echoed throughout the house, coming from upstairs, signaling Armageddon.

Zack worked fast. "What's that you say, Phil? Go on without you? Phillip, I couldn't, no—Oh, you want me to? You'll take all the blame? Oh, Phil… you truly are the better man of the two of us." He wiped some fake tears from his eyes with a sniffle. Just before he broke into a sprint to the back of the house, already in position to do so, Zack announced smugly, "And _that_, Philly, is how you act!" And just like that, he was gone.

"_Zack_!" Phil's voice shouted, banging on the door more in fury, before a loud bang signaled he'd thrown his entire body at the door this time.

The door opened then almost startlingly quick and Phil fell out, and his face came in instant contact with the floor.

He didn't dare get up, though, as he could already feel that looming presence over himself, the tension so thick in the room that he was practically choking on it, regardless of the fact his nose was smashed up against the hardwood floor.

The presence tapped it's foot, causing small tremors to run through the floor and vibrate against his face. He shivered.

"_Up_. Now."

Phil obeyed immediately, near-scrambling off the floor and standing at attention, eyes cemented to the floor.

There was a growl, and Phil steeled himself, clenching his eyes and fists shut.

"Phillip Bob Craig Shortman, _look me in the eye when I am talking to you_."

It took effort, but he managed to wretch his eyes open and bring them to connect with hers. Her blue eyes were narrowed dangerously, flames blazing, and her arms stiff at her sides, legs spread. He swallowed unconsciously. _Her war stance_. He dared to ask, "Uh… Hey, Mom. Everything all right?" He cringed, his brain desperately trying to recall if he'd done anything bad recently.

She put an end to his misery when she deafly held up a pair of honey soaked boxer shorts, positively dripping with the apparently sickly and sticky substance. Phil gawked. She stated simply, eyes narrowing further, "_Someone_ spilled honey in your father and I's vanity. Arnold didn't know so apparently he's been walking around in honey drawers all day, and only just realized the reason his pants felt weird when a swarm of bees chased him off campus. Have any idea who could have done this?"

Phil just stared, dumbfounded, when the sound of the backdoor slamming shut startled him and he jumped. Helga was quick, though. Gripping the boxers in a fist, she seethed, "Oh no you don't," before ripping through the house to practically smash through the back screen door and run through the yard. Her feet ate up the ground as she rounded the corner and caught Zack with one leg already over the fence. All it took was one fierce tug to throw him off and cause him to fall back onto the lawn with a terrified yell.

Stepping forward to stand over him, she glared down at his face, his shaggy blond locks mingling with the grass and his blue eyes almost innocent in their wideness as they stared up at her. She scowled. He stared.

Impatience proved dominant. "_Well_?" she prompted, holding the underpants over his face and shaking them. "Any last words, Zacky Boy? Perhaps some begging for your life to be spared for all my good bras now being ant bait?"

That managed to get a response out of his shocked form, and he sputtered out, face contorting, "Ewww, mom bras—did you _really_ have to put that image in my head—"

"Ohhh, I'm sorry, it would seem you've run out of time, and that was _not_ the correct answer. I'd tell you to play again soon, but you don't even have that much time." She grabbed him by the collar of his blue-plaid shirt and proceeded to drag him across the yard, hell bent on throwing him in the lake.

Zack was having none of that, though, and he clawed at the ground, freaking out, "Whoa, whoa! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Mom, stop! Seriously, it was an accident! I didn't—"

"_Why_," she ground out through clenched teeth, trying with all her might to pull him despite his resistance, "were you even," she pulled him a few more inches, "in our bedroom," she grabbed him under his arms and continued to pull, making significant progress now, "_in the first place_?"

Zack made an odd sort of screeching sound and attempted to stand up, only for his lanky legs to stumble and make him fall harshly on his butt and get dragged in even longer, more determined strides by his deadly mother. "I-I was just in there, I don't know!"

"You're lying!"

"Do my pants _look_ like they're on fire?"

"Well if they are, they certainly won't be in a minute."

Understanding what she meant to do with him now, he desperately tried to twist against her grasp, kicking his legs fervently. "No, no! Not the lake! This is my favorite shirt!"

"Then start talking, wise guy!" She threw him down, stepping over to stand in front of him and make sure he couldn't get away, though she really didn't need to. Her entire body radiated fury, and the last thing on Zack's mind right now was doing anything to anger her further.

Taking a couple seconds to regain his breath, he launched swiftly into his explanation, "I was mixing peanut butter with honey for a snack yesterday and went into your room to try to find a CD I'd dropped in there earlier—I guess I must have left the honey on the vanity and it got knocked over somehow. I didn't know! I'm sorry!"

Helga seethed, "Why was your CD in our room?"

"I dropped it—"

She cut him off with a prompt snort. "_Yes_, Captain Obvious, I heard that. Let me rephrase: how many times do we have to tell you to stay out of our room before you'll actually _listen_? Why does everything go over your head?"

Zack sputtered, at a loss for words for a moment before he managed out, stuttering, "It's not you, it's Dad. Every time he tells me not to, it just—I—He's kinda hard to take serious—"

"Your father is a perfectly capable man!" Helga snapped, leaning down into his bug-eyed face, blue connecting with blue, "Just because he loves you doesn't mean he's not fully capable of whipping your ass!"

This time, Zack managed to conger the nerve to snort, eyes flying to the sky. "You've always said that yet he's never done anything. Empty threats get pretty _old_ after a while, don't ya think, Helga? That hasn't worked on me since I was twelve." He pulled his knees towards himself in his position on the ground and smiled sweetly.

"Oh really now?" Helga said, eyebrows tilting upward as she straightened herself and crossed her arms. A little too calm for comfort. "Well then how about when he gets home we just have him make up for lost time? _Say_, sixteen years' worth?"

Zack looked at her through lowered lids, ever confident even in the face of death. "He would never do that. No matter how many times you bat your eyelashes, Mom."

She didn't falter. "Ohhh, I don't think he'll need any convincing. Not with the eight bee stings he has and all the underwear that'll no doubt take us all day to scrub."

Zack burst into a grin at hearing that, remembering what he'd heard before he'd tried to flee. "_Yeah_, he got chased off campus by a bunch of bees." He burst into laughter, imaging his mild-mannered, ever-relaxed father making a beeline (pun intended) for safety, arms flailing and shoes be damned while all the little kids screamed. It was almost too much for him to handle. He choked out, falling onto his back on the lawn, "What are the _odds_?"

Helga shrugged, irritation darkening her face with how he was completely missing the point. "He broke a mirror. Look, _Zachary_," she was pleased with how that brought a grimace to his face, "I'm done with your complete disregard for rules. The football head may not be able to strike fear into your heart, but I," she struck quick and grabbed him by the collar of his plaid shirt and pulled him nose to nose with her, causing his eyes to instantly bolt open wide in the face of her ire, "will not hesitate to take a blow torch to _all of your books_."

His eyes instantly went startlingly dark, just what Helga expected, and he growled, "_You wouldn't_…"

She quirked a brow, challenging. "Try me, short man."

His face blanched at the nickname, as it always did, before he muttered quietly, unused to being bested, "Fine…"

Just like that, Helga let go of him, leaving him to fall gracelessly back onto the lawn, before dusting her hands off and turning back towards the house. "Wise boy. Clean yourself up before you come inside. You're covered in dirt." She turned her head around sharply then, eyes narrowed. "And I mean it. If I see even one speck of dirt on my clean floors, 'The Catcher in the Rye' goes…" she made an exploding sound with her lips and gestured her arms wide, before cackling evilly and wandering back to the house, disappearing inside.

Zack watched her go expressionlessly, propped up on his elbows, before he fell back into the grass with a large sigh, shutting his eyes to the afternoon sun. "Damn it."

"Well, _that_ was better than pay-per-view."

Zack's head shot up to see Phil leaning against the back of the house, his arms crossed and lips smirked. Zack gaped at him. "How long have you been there?"

Phil chuckled. "Only long enough to see Mom make a complete idiot out of you. Not that you can't do that very well yourself, mind you, and _do_ on a regular basis, but still." He blew some hair out of his face casually, as if he hadn't just witnessed the infamous Zachary Shortman ego get torn to shreds in the matter of minutes.

Zack looked at him incredulously. "You sadistic little skuzzball."

Phil laughed silently, chest bouncing, before he smiled thinly, eyes half-mast with sardonic mirth. "Forgive the fascination. This isn't exactly an everyday event." He grinned.

"_Okay_, what did I miss this time?" Ham groaned suddenly from the doorway, orange ice pop in hand. To think he'd just come out here for some fresh air and ended up seeing a bedraggled Zack sprawled across the lawn and a grinning Phil. Both of which things that were not normal. If you could call anything normal in this household, anyway.

"Zack got yelled at!" a soft chiming voice came in answer.

Zack's head shot to the right, seeing the innocent face peeking through a gap in the fence. He shot upright, scandalized. "_Amanda Faith_, et tu?"

Amanda shied her face down, abashed. "I couldn't help but overhear."

"You always miss the best stuff, Ham. I'm sorry for you," Phil commented, eyeing the elder.

Ham pursed his lips. "Whatever. All the better for my sanity."

Zack looked around at them all with eye-twitching mortification, before he stunted suddenly, face blank. After a moment or two of uncertain atmosphere, he burst into raucous, ear-splitting laughter and fell back once more, rocking back and forth in hysterics.

They all observed this silently for a minute, before Ham said bluntly, "He's lost his mind."

"It was only a matter of time," Phil muttered listlessly.

"In this family, I believe it." Ham took a bite out of his ice cream.

"Oh, you are all _so_ getting locked in the closet!" Zack cackled. Sitting upright then, he stood up and began in his modest attempt to clean himself off, grin still set. "And you know what the best part is? Even if I did just basically get my life threatened, she completely neglected to give me any actual punishment. I just got off scott-free. Even when it seems like I lose, I still win." He smirked with his devil-may-care attitude and flitted his hand at them. "She's all talk and appearance. Couldn't even call me out on the fact that I put honey in Dad's underwear on _purpose_." He walked purposely over towards the house.

Phil's jaw dropped at hearing all this, eyebrows shooting up in astonishment. "You _lied_?"

Zack stopped beside him and smirked, ruffling his hair, much to his chagrin. "_Learn_, little brother. I don't approve of dishonesty normally, but when a life is at stake, _lie like the wind_. Always remember that."

Zack brushed past Ham into the house then, leaving Phil watching after him in admiration and Ham to gawk. Amanda had long been called back by her friends in the other yard, though—good thing, she really didn't need to hear any of that.

"I can't even…" Ham breathed. After a few seconds, he threw his arms up, sending his ice cream flying away, and announced, "I'm done!" Spinning on his heel then, he marched back inside and slammed the door.

Phil just stared out across the yard for a moment, dazed, before he realized Zack had just said they were all going into the closet again. And knowing him and what had just happened, he wasn't joking. Phil slapped his forehead. "Ah, crap."

Suddenly the wind was knocked out of him when Zack came racing out the backdoor again. Face in the dirt, he looked up to see Zack jump back up quick and go high-tailing across the yard as fast as his freakishly long legs could take him. Phil didn't get a chance to wonder why, only just managing to push himself up off the ground when Arnold came shredding across the yard after him, his hair mangled and big red dots all over his forearms. Phil stared in shock as several yards out, Arnold caught up with Zack and began dragging him back to the house, yelling obscenities that he couldn't hear.

"Justice serves," Phil was startled to hear Ham say from behind him, and looked over to see him grinning in the doorway. Phil did a double take. "Did you snitch?"

Ham shook his head. "Nah, I don't need honey in my underwear drawer, thanks. Dad just came home, saw Zack, and, well…" He laughed. "It was like World War III happened in three seconds flat when they looked at each other."

Phil stared at him a second before sighing harshly and face planting back into the grass. "Criminy, that was almost epic."

"Let this be a lesson to you," Ham said with a smile, "_Karma_ always has the last laugh."

Phil grumbled under his breath, "Note to self: kill this Karma person. She has no sense of humor."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** It's like Alvin and the Chipmunks or something. I don't even know. Oh, haha, on that good note I promised? It would appear Phil has a following. XD The insanely awesome **writergirl97** wrote a short romance fic for him with an OC of hers. It's titled "Echo So Sweet" for anyone who's interested. It's adorable! Check it out. :D I'm still in shock that anybody bothered to write something for one of my characters. xD Absolutely miraculous.

Oh, also, I've been drawing up the characters and posting them on my Deviant account for kicks. So far I have Amanda and Zack up, Phil is next, then the Ham meister—it goes how it flows. Check that out if you're curious, they're SORTA accurate, for the most part. The link's on my profile.

Btw, thank you guys SO much for reading and reviewing this! The encouragement has really meant a lot, and made me incredibly happy. I love you guys. You're the best. *Hearty heart heart* Takes a minute, means a lot, you've no idea the joy you've brought. *SPINE CRUSHING GROUP HUG* Love hurts, loves! This is the price you pay for being wonderful! :D

Pickles and pies. (:

**_REVIEW!_**


	6. Almost Perfect: Part 1

**A/N:** The next few chapters will be titled "Shortman Secrets." Or at least, they will be in my head.

I am really sorry for the length… *Grimaces* I'm really trying to get better when it comes to story flow and character development. Do let me know what you think! Happy, important notes can be located in my closing A/N here. Enjoy!

In order of who reviewed first and so on:

**~Beautiful People~**

Jessluvswriting

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You are all faultless! Thank you for the feedback! If it wouldn't make things extremely awkward, I'd kiss you all.

Read on, young jedi…z.

**Disclaimer:** Whazzup? I don't own Arnold or Helga. But as for the rest, de mine. xp RESPECT THE OWNAGE.

* * *

><p><strong>Almost Perfect<strong>

**Part 1**

* * *

><p>Amanda Shortman walked anxiously beside her mother through the halls of P.S. 118, her messily put up pigtails bouncing with her steps. Her mother offered to put them up for her, but as usual Amanda insisted she do it herself. As a result they were crooked and a bit unkempt, but she was proud of them nonetheless.<p>

Her wide emerald eyes took in the expanse of the hall eagerly, memorizing every detail she'd forgotten over the summer. Amanda was a very bright student and enjoyed almost every aspect of school. She loved the pencils, paper, fresh books, the lingering smell of undiscovered knowledge, and especially her friends. Her pace picked up unconsciously and passed a few steps in front of her mother, missing the amused eyebrow quirk.

Her Mary Janes clacked quietly against the floor, and she beamed at everyone that passed, lighting up their faces with a smile they couldn't help but return. Amanda was like the sun at P.S. 118, always with a kind smile and joy-stringed words to share. With perfect grades and a lovely personality, there was very little wrong with Amanda Faith.

But very little and nothing weren't exactly the same thing, were they?

Amanda walked into her almost empty second grade classroom and her eyes lit up instantly, excited beyond measure to see her father sorting through some things in his suitcase on the desk.

"Daddy!" she squealed, immediately racing across the room to throw herself at him.

Arnold stumbled only slightly at the hug, before he chuckled warmly and picked her full off the ground to twirl her around.

"Daddy," she giggled, pulling away slightly in his arms to look him in the eye, "what are you doing here?"

Arnold stopped spinning and adjusted his grip on her, smiling teasingly. "Why, I'm your teacher of course—"

This little bit of information immediately brought forth a new string of squeals, and Arnold laughed. "Oh my gosh, Dad," Amanda piped up again, hugging him around his neck, "I'd completely forgotten you taught second grade. This is going to be wonderful!"

Arnold grinned, hugging her tighter and rocking her a little in his arms. It seemed like only yesterday that was all she was—a little pink bundle in his arms, looking up at him with the biggest green eyes he'd ever seen. He sighed. "Yes. Yes, it will be."

Suddenly the sound of someone clearing their throat snapped Arnold back to reality. He turned around, still supporting Amanda in his arms.

His eyes connected with his wife's mischievous ones across the room, where she stood leaning her hip against the doorway. One of his eyebrows popped up without his meaning it to, before he looked back to Amanda and forced a quick smile. "Hey, 'manda, go put your things away, okay? Class doesn't start for another half hour."

Amanda blinked at him, looking a tad confused. She looked over at her mother, then back at him, and understanding seemed to light in her eyes. She nodded dutifully and hopped down to wander over to a desk directly up front, taking off her backpack to start sorting through what she'd be keeping here.

Arnold swiveled on his foot to face his wife in an instant, eyebrow cocked once more, and smirked. Helga looked away, almost coy in the blue jeans and pink v-neck she'd slung on at the ungodly hour. But even with her lazy ponytail and speedily applied blush, she looked gorgeous.

Arnold sauntered over to her and leaned against the other side of the door, causing a button of his blazer to come undone. "Well, hello there, ma'am. I can't help but notice you're not wearing a ring…" His smirk turned to a flirty smile. "Mind if I correct that?"

Helga laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, leaning away from him a little with lowered lashes. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Shortman, but I just left my ring in my jewelry box… You see, it's very special to me, and it'd kill me to lose it…"

Arnold frowned at that, leaning in closer despite her reluctance. "So a married woman, eh?" He smirked. "I do love a challenge."

Helga looked down and away, leaning as far away as the wall would allow. "Mr. Shortman, _please_. I do have children, you know…"

Arnold grinned. "Well it's a good thing I'm a teacher then. Children are my specialty." He took a small step closer to her, taking her hand into his. "Don't you stand there with your pretty blue eyes pretending I haven't seen you checking me out in the hallways before. I _know_ you're interested, _Miss_."

"Hmmm…" Helga hummed, flicking her hesitant blues back to his. "I don't know… My husband's kind of the jealous sort, it would be very risky… and the kids love him so much, I'd hate to put them through any heartache."

Arnold came forward suddenly and enveloped her in his arms, pulling her tight to him. He whispered in her ear, fingers curling against the fabric of her shirt, "I don't think they'll mind…"

Helga sighed breathlessly against him, still as prone to swooning as she was when they were children. With hands wrapping themselves around his shoulders, she muttered ruefully, "We really have to stop being so good at this, or else we'll end up with a fifth kid…"

Arnold's chuckle was deep and rough, sending trembles down her spine, and he pulled back to grin in her face charmingly. "Hey, it'll be an adventure!"

Helga quirked half her mouth up, raising an eyebrow. "You always say that. But I think I'm all _adventured out_, if you know what I mean…"

Arnold pouted as a joke, and Helga just rolled her eyes before pressing a kiss to his silly mouth.

Just as he was returning the kiss, a screech ripped them apart. Eyes darting, their eyes landed on a small brown haired boy with eyes to match sticking his tongue out in disgust.

Stricken, Arnold said dumbly, "You're early."

The boy snorted and pushed past the adults still wrapped around each other, marching into the classroom. "Yeah, no duh." He stopped suddenly then, before turning around with an eyebrow raised in conceit. "You _would_ be named Shortman."

Arnold blinked. He wasn't sure, but he felt as if he'd just been insulted. "Uh, how did you—"

"Your desk has a nameplate, Shorts." He pointed to the small plate sitting atop his desk, before crossing his arms. "If you're this thick-headed now about something as obvious as this, I'm worried about the fate of our class."

Arnold stared gobsmacked, when suddenly Helga launched out of his arms and stood to tower over the seven-year-old. "Now you watch that mouth—"

"Helga," Arnold stopped her quick with a warm hand on her shoulder, instantly calming her temper.

That is until the boy said, "_Helga_?" He laughed incredulously, the sound quick and piercing. "What kind of a name is that? What's your name then?" He snapped his eyes to the teacher. "Brutus? Hubert? What disaster's going on there?"

Helga reached blindly to grip Arnold's hand and squeezed it for dear life, scowling almost murderously. Arnold gripped it back and responded to him calmly, "Fair enough, everyone has an opinion—what's your name?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't answer me."

Arnold stared him down for a few seconds, before relenting, "Arnold."

The boy sniffed, sticking his nose up. "I should have figured. Nice to meet you, Poindexter, I'm Chris."

Despite himself, Arnold found himself smiling ever so slightly. "Nice to meet you, Chris. Go on and have a seat."

"I was going to." He turned to march over to the desks, when his eyes came crashing down on Amanda sorting through her backpack. He froze. "Amanda… you're here early."

Amanda brought her eyes up to meet his and blinked. Her face remained impassive as she looked at him, before she looked back down into her backpack, pulling out a ruler and holding it delicately in her hands. "Yep."

He paused only a moment more before sniffing, storming over to his desk and sitting as far away from her as possible. He sat down loudly, screeching his chair across the floor and emphasizing it's scream. Amanda didn't even flinch. He scowled.

Arnold looked back to his wife and they shared a look, Helga much calmer now than she was before.

"I should go," she said regretfully, pecking him on the cheek. "Good luck. Something tells me you're going to have your work cut out for you."

Arnold offered a small smile brimmed with irony, and squeezed her hand one last time. He muttered quietly, "I do love a challenge."

Helga chuckled and let go of his hand, walking out of the classroom. "See you at home later, Football. I've still got to take the boys to school."

Arnold snorted out a laugh. "And you said I have _my_ work cut out for me!"

She smirked at him one last time before she was out of sight.

* * *

><p>"All right, class," Arnold announced, clapping his hands together with a wide grin, "first off I'd like to welcome you all to second grade. My name is Mr. Shortman, but you can also call me Mr. Arnold if you want. Whatever you find suitable." He turned and wrote both names on the board.<p>

Someone called then while his back was turned, "How about Mr. Stupid?"

There were some giggles and snickers, but Arnold just chuckled and turned around with his hands on his hips. "Very funny. But if you want to get really creative, why don't you go ahead and call me Mr. Football Head?"

Everyone burst into laughter at hearing that and Arnold grinned, shaking his head at them. "I've heard all the names, kids. Make fun all you want. But today is the first day of class, so let's try to make a good impression, huh?" He beamed. "The next few weeks will be really easy. We're just reviewing what you learned last year, so no worries. We're in this as a team, and I'm here to make sure everyone excels." He walked over to his desk to pull out his planner and place it flat on his desk. Flipping a few pages, he spoke, "Today we'll be starting out on basic addition. Okay, so let's say Phil has three sticks of gum…"

"Pssst…" someone hissed from the back of the room.

Amanda didn't hear them, too wrapped up in watching her father teach.

"Psssssst… Piggy…"

Amanda's eyelids fell at hearing the name, but otherwise she ignored it.

The voice seemed to know she'd heard, though. "Piggy, your tails are crooked again. You look like an idiot."

Amanda ignored him, picking out a pen to start taking notes.

The voice was relentless. "Ah, a pen, Piggy Pig? Really? A bit overconfident if you ask me."

Amanda bit her lip hard before her hand was suddenly in the air. The voice immediately went silent.

"Yes, Amanda?" Arnold asked fondly, a piece of chalk in hand.

Amanda put her arm down and twirled her pen in her hand, asking, "Would it be okay if I asked something kind of off topic?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow. "I guess… What is it?"

Grabbing down one of her pigtails to run her fingers through it, she averted her eyes as she asked, "Well, I was just wondering, since you're our new teacher and all, what the punishment would be for trouble makers?"

Arnold seemed surprised at the question, and his eyes flicked somewhere else for a moment before he smiled slightly and answered, "Well, I'd say a time out would be in order. If it's really bad, though, I'd have to call their parents." He waved his hand then, turning back to the board to write out some equations. "But I'm sure it won't ever have to come to _that_."

Amanda looked down at her desk, mumbling, "I wouldn't be so sure…"

Nonetheless, the voice was quiet for the rest of the lesson. Something Amanda was truly grateful for.

* * *

><p>"Elli!" Amanda yelled, racing through the halls to catch up with her best friend, too-big bow flying behind her in a flickering wave of pink.<p>

The short girl stopped and smiled her gentle smile at her friend as she caught up. "Hey," she grinned, "our new teacher is great."

Amanda beamed proudly. "I know."

"Oh, here." Elli licked her thumb and reached up to tighten Amanda's pigtails that were falling loose.

Amanda huffed a little, still catching her breath. "Thanks, Elli." She reached up to touch her hair with a tentative hand. "I'm always having problems with it."

Elli shrugged. "You'll get it in time. Just keep trying."

Amanda grinned, beginning to walk alongside her friend as they made their way down the hall. "I will! Oh, Elli, today has been so wonderful so far. I can't believe my dad's going to be our teacher this year."

"Maybe next year too," Elli commented offhandedly.

Amanda snapped her green eyes over to her, her mouth forming a small circle "What?"

Elli shrugged, sinking her hands into her sweater's pockets. "Well, I've heard of teachers moving up with their students in the grades sometimes if they really like them or something. I kinda doubt your dad will be able to give up teaching you for only a year." She laughed a little under her breath.

Amanda stopped, her green eyes wide with a blissful haze. "Oh, Ell… If that were true!" She spun around, tugging her pigtails down without thinking and gripping them tight. "I'll never be unhappy again!" She squealed. "Not even Chris could ruin my day!"

"I'll have to try harder then!" the voice from before suddenly yelled, skidding past them on a skateboard.

Amanda gaped at Chris, letting go of her now ruined and drooping pigtails to reach a hand out, even though he was far down the hall now. "Chris! What are you doing? You can't ride that in here! You'll hurt someone!"

"HA! Watch me, Piggy!" He stuck his tongue out at her, swiveling around the corner.

"Ugh," Amanda sighed, her shoulders falling.

Elli frowned. With her shoulders, pigtails, and giant pink bow all drooping like that, she looked truly pitiful, like a small pink drop of sunshine melted into the dirt of the floor. She walked calmly over and began fixing her pigtails diligently, saying nicely, "Hey, forget him. He's stupid. He can't ruin your day remember?"

Amanda looked up at her a moment, before grinning again. The sharp switch of emotions never failed to surprise Elli, and she took a step back. "You're right! My dad's our teacher for the entire year, and might be for next year too, and maybe even the next year, and the next, and—"

Elli laughed and put a hand over her mouth, shushing her. "Don't get overexcited, 'mand. We don't even know if I'm right."

Amanda stared at her for a second, before scoffing and taking hold of her arm to pull it away from her grinning lips. "I know you're right. And even if you're not, I'll make sure of it." She beamed.

Elli just shook her head. "Whatever you say, Amanda."

There was a sudden yell, "Young man! What are you doing? You can't ride that in here! Do you _want_ detention?"

Both Amanda and Elli froze at hearing this, before they slowly rotated their heads to share a broad, knowing smirk.

* * *

><p>"Welcome back, class." Arnold smiled as his class came filing back into the room. "I trust you enjoyed your recess." He walked over to the board, leaning his back against it as he crossed his arms. The relaxed pose caught some hopeful glances. "Now then, our next subject will be <em>English<em>."

That earned him some groans from all except one. Arnold hid his smile, standing up straight to walk over to the front of them all. "Now, come on, guys. We're reviewing remember? This isn't anything you don't already know." He leaned with a hand on Amanda's desk to talk to them all more personally. "But we're not doing any of that today. I need to grade your Math quizzes, so while I'm doing that, I'm giving one simple assignment. You've got the entire hour to do it, so just take your time and enjoy it." Sharing a quick look with Amanda, he smiled secretively and said, "I'd like you all to write a poem."

Everyone groaned again at hearing this and Arnold laughed. "Kids, come on, what's wrong with that?"

"Poems are icky," one black-haired boy said, sinking down in his seat.

"Yeah, they're all romancy and stuff…" a tall blonde said from the back, glancing around at everyone in embarrassment.

"No!" Amanda suddenly turned sharply in her seat, eyes incredulous and firm. "Poems aren't icky or romancy!"

Arnold took a step back to address them all, amused. "Amanda's right, kids, poems are astoundingly flexible. They don't have to be about romance. They can be about anything in the world. They could be about a pet, or some candy you really like, or even just about a finger."

"A finger?" a short, baseball capped redhead asked, pushing away from her desk in confusion. "How do you finger that one out?"

Arnold shrugged, turning away from everyone as they sniggered, tossing over his shoulder, "Oh, I don't know—Finger, finger, on my hand, you can do so much, you really can. From picking up things to wearing a band, finger, finger, you're truly grand."

Some hushed whispers started at that, and Arnold smirked to himself, satisfied to know years of being married to Helga the Poetess had more than paid off. But he lost the smirk when he realized all he'd really accomplished was writing a second grade worthy poem that awed a bunch of seven-year-olds. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he turned back around and raised an eyebrow. "Still think it can't be done?"

"How'd you do that?" a dark brown haired girl asked with her mouth slightly open in awe. He'd thought he'd heard some of the kids calling her Concrete Kid earlier—he'd have to ask about that later.

Arnold smiled. "It's easy. All you have to do is make a few lines that rhyme. Rhyming's as simple as one, two, _three_, it's as easy as can _be_, you _see_?"

Some murmurs started at that. A brown-haired girl with spidery braids poking out of her head raised her hand, asking curiously, "Would it be terribly, terribly wrong if we wrote a song instead?"

Arnold looked at her kindly. "I don't see why you couldn't. A song is a form of a poem anyway."

Amanda giggled, singing as she swayed in her seat, "Yankee-doodle went to town, riding on a pony—"

Everyone joined in with her, "Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni!" Everyone burst into laughter.

Arnold grinned, clapping his hands once. "Exactly that! So go on—write a poem or song, all you need to do is make sure it rhymes. You won't be working on anything more advanced than that for a long time. You can talk amongst yourselves, just don't get too loud, okay? And make sure you're finished within the hour. Have fun!" He wandered over to his desk then and plopped down, pulling out the papers from earlier.

The room instantly exploded in hushed whispers and chatter, everyone pulling out paper and pencils.

Amanda didn't even look up—her face was hidden beneath her bangs as she scribbled furiously on her paper, her tongue stuck out in concentration.

A pair of brown eyes watched her the entire time.

* * *

><p>Arnold stared down at the paper, his mouth slightly open. "Huh… that's surprising." Doing the math once more in his head to make sure, he smacked his lips a little to himself in disappointment and shook his head, marking it with an F. "I wouldn't have thought."<p>

"Daddy," a soft voice suddenly piped up and Arnold's green eyes snapped up to his little girl's, who was smiling almost shy. But that couldn't be, his little girl was much too confident for that. Smiling reminiscently at how familiar this almost was, he said, "Yes, 'manda?"

Her fingers tapped against the paper in her hand and Arnold realized she'd finished her poem. She laid it down in front of him and smiled widely, her teeth showing. "All done." She looked at him eagerly, eyes slipping back down to the paper.

Arnold smiled at her with exaggerated enthusiasm, picking up the poem with a small flourish. "I can see that. Well, I'll just have to grade it right now." Turning his eyes to the poem, he read it with a smile. As he finished it, though, his once genuine smile was more forced now. Looking back up into her big, anxious eyes, he felt his heart chip. Glancing back down to the paper, he pursed his lips as he wagged his head back and forth a little in thought, playing mental ping pong with himself. Finally, he came to a conclusion and picked up his big green pen, marking it with a solid A. He smiled at Amanda, handing it back to her. "Very nice, Amanda. It certainly… rhymes."

Amanda seemed breathless as she gazed down at the A on her paper, bunching up the page a little in her hands. "Oh… Oh, thank you, Daddy!" She almost made a move to hug him but then realized there was a big desk blocking her from getting anywhere close to him. Frowning for only a moment, she relented to simply look at him happily. "Um, I mean, thanks, Mr. Shortman…" She giggled, dazed with giddiness.

Arnold's smile turned huge and genuine. He'd lost count of how many times he'd fallen in love with that smile. "Of course, Amanda." Leaning over the desk on his arms, his eyes turned kind. "Now run along back to your seat, class won't be over for another half hour."

"Okay—" She seemed ready to turn around and do just that, when suddenly someone reached right around her and slammed something down on Arnold's desk.

Amanda jumped when Chris leaned his arms over onto the desk, standing much too close to her for her liking. "Hey, Shorts, here's that poem you wanted."

Arnold looked down at it, reading to himself, "I ate a cat, it tasted like a rat, but it was a brat—"

Chris sniffed loudly, eyes going full circle. "Hey, you said all it had to do was rhyme. I figured it was free game." He scowled then. "And I hate poems."

Amanda seemed thoroughly offended, and she huffed out a quiet breath before turning sharply on her heel and going back to her desk.

His eyes followed her, before snapping back to Arnold when he replied, "Chris, this is rather inappropriate."

Chris crossed his eyes in a crude expression, before leaning further over the desk in an attempt of intimidation. He was surprisingly tall for a seven-year-old. "Who says? We eat dog all the time, why not cat? What's so wrong with that? And who's to say they don't taste like rat? Have you ever tried one?" His eyes flashed, and for a moment, this seemed all too familiar to Arnold. Chris leaned in closer, glaring daggers. "_Huh, _Spazz Boy? Or should I say, Mr. Football Head, _sir_?"

Arnold stared at him in confusion, suddenly feeling nine-years-old and not quite knowing why. "Uh—" snapping out of it, he leaned over to meet the kid's eyes directly, asking with a level tone, "since when do we eat dogs, Chris?"

Chris snorted, eyes flying. "Hot _dogs_—duh!"

Arnold couldn't control the smile. "Hot dogs aren't actually made of dogs, Chris."

Chris stared at him, stricken. "Then why do they call them that?"

Arnold shrugged, still smiling. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Chris sniffed, standing up straight. "_Okay_… then what are they made of?"

Arnold kept his smile for a few more seconds before it suddenly vanished, his brows creasing. "Um…" He blinked a couple times before a laugh suddenly burst from him and he confessed, "I don't really know."

This earned him a glare, the young boy's hands laying themselves flat on his desk. "Then how do you know they're not made of dog?"

Arnold sighed, realizing real fast there was no real way of winning this argument. "Okay, fair enough. I'll tell you what—I'll give you an A on your poem, if you explain to me how you could have failed your Math quiz." He kept his tone quiet so no one else heard, very wary of making him uncomfortable.

This worry was shattered when Chris suddenly yelled, "I didn't fail anything! Math is nothing!"

Eyes struck wide, Arnold raised himself slightly from his desk, palms flat and face startled. "Chris, keep your voice down!"

"Why should I?" he yelled over his shoulder, marching over to the door. "How about I just go the Principal's office right now? That's the only place I end up anyhow!"

"_Christopher_," Arnold said firmly, standing up from his seat.

Chris turned sharp enough to leave a scratch in the floor, his eyes flashing furiously. "The name's _Christian_, and don't ever call me that! My name is Chris. Chris, Chris, Chris, do you get it?"

Arnold sighed, walking over to grab the chair from his desk and carry it to the front of the room. "Yes, Chris, I do, and you're in time out as of right now. I'm not sending you to the Principal's office. Now sit down." The chair now placed beside his desk, he pointed to it firmly.

Chris looked from the chair to the teacher with incredulous eyes.

Arnold's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Now, Chris. You're not in trouble, not really. I just want to talk."

Chris stared at him for a long moment, before he sniffed and marched over to the chair, sitting down with an edge. "There. Happy?"

Arnold unleashed a silent breath of relief, sitting back down in his own chair. "Yes, very." He shot a look to the kids in the room and they all immediately went back to their quiet chattering. Folding his hands in his lap, he leaned back in his chair and gave Chris a concerned look. "Chris…" he began carefully, taking his time on drawing out the length of his name.

He looked away.

Arnold tilted his head at him, even more concerned. "This isn't so bad, okay? No need to…" he took his sweet time choosing the right word, "overreact," he decided slowly. He continued more assuredly then, "Your work doesn't look like you even tried. Were you guessing?"

Chris turned his nose up at the teacher, brown eyes blank. "Yeah, so?"

Arnold's frown deepened. "You seem so bright, Chris, I don't understand the difficulty."

Chris shrugged. "Looks are deceiving. For all you know, I'm retarded."

Arnold's eyes widened at the word and he looked over to the rest of the kids quick to make sure nobody had heard.

Chris sneered, "It's not a cuss word, Shorts. If you can't handle the harsh fact, then go jump off a cliff. It'd sure save me a lot of time. I'd be home by now."

Arnold looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Some kids are very sensitive. That's not a nice word—"

"It's a fact," Chris ground out, teeth bearing. "Some people are stupid by nature, the 'R word'," he used air quotes mockingly, "just so happens to be the term for it, and I just so happen to be one of them. _Kids_ should stop being such babies and accept the facts. Maybe you should do the same." He crossed his arms and looked away again.

Arnold leaned back in his chair again, eyes wide in all their greenness. "You're older than seven, huh?" It was more of a statement, simple in nature, no judgment behind it.

Chris pouted, still not looking at him. "I'm eight, okay? It's not a big deal."

Arnold shook his head, not even hesitating in saying, "No it's not."

That got Chris' attention instantly, his eyes going round in all their rich darkness. They looked so different than before, all hardened up and snarky. They were clear now, vulnerable. It then became clear to Arnold that this boy had never had anyone agree with him before. It broke his heart. "You really think so?"

Arnold nodded his head surely, smiling with as much kindness as his heart could muster. "Of course. Everyone has their difficulties, Chris. You're no different than anyone else just because of one blunder."

Chris looked shocked.

Arnold couldn't have held back the offer even if he wanted, "Hey, how would you feel about having dinner with me and my family this evening? I know you got in trouble with the principal before, and I know he wants to punish you… I could offer my guidance instead—"

Chris interrupted him with a hand, eyes wide with incredulity. "Hold it, you… are seriously inviting me to… your house? Like with your family?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow, bemused. "Sure, if you'd like. We could discuss tutoring arrangements, get your grades high before you even know it. Maybe even skip a grade…" he hinted, eyebrows hopping.

Chris immediately snorted at that last part. "I'd really rather not."

Arnold blinked at him. "Why not?"

Chris' eyes seemed to widen for a split second before he sniffed out loud and waved a hand. "I mean I'll never be able to get grades _that_ good."

Arnold shrugged, smiling encouragingly. "You never know. You'd be surprised what can be accomplished if you just believe."

He didn't comment on that.

Arnold's smile was friendly, and he nudged him a little with his foot. "So what do you say?"

"I…" Chris blinked, scratching at his arm. "I don't know, I'd really have to check see if it was okay."

Arnold nodded understandingly, rolling his chair over to look back down at the pile of ungraded papers on his desk. "Oh, of course, ask you parents first. Ask if they can come as well." He waved an absent-minded hand at him, scratching a bit at his nose with his pen. "And I'll talk with the principal. We'll see how everything lines up." He looked up once more to gift him with a sincere smile.

Chris just nodded slowly, his mouth seeming unsure whether to smile or frown.

* * *

><p>"You did <em>what<em>?" his wife's voice hissed at him through the phone.

Arnold winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I invited him to dinner. Is that bad?"

"Arnold," she yelled, some unidentified laughing going on in the background, "why would you do that? Did you even stop to think for a second how Amanda might feel? How _I_ might feel?"

Arnold frowned, his hand dropping away. "Well, it's not a done deal yet, I'm asking you now. And I just, I couldn't help it, Helga, he just looked so sad—"

"Football Head!" she barked, her voice sounding louder than before. He could just picture her shoving the mouthpiece half way down her throat in an attempt to scream at him louder. Even the funny thought couldn't comfort him as Helga lectured, "You asked me… _after_ you asked the principal! You _cannot_ keep bringing in these charity cases! We're a family, Arnold, have been for sixteen years, and this is the third time _this month_. One of these days you're going to put us in real jeopardy. You'll bring someone in too far gone, and he'll end up murdering us with a weed whacker or butter knife or whatever else he can get his hands on, just slash us all to the bone and you know what then, Arnold? We'll be _dead_, and everything we've worked so hard to protect will have been for not. It's time you grew up and just accepted that people are hopeless!"

"But Helga, he's a kid!" he countered, speaking imploringly into the phone. "What could he do that would be so dangerous? I saw him, Helga, I've been with him all day—he's perfectly safe, just a little confused. I promise."

"Arnold," she groaned.

"Helga." He looked down, sighing as he raked a hand through his untamable blonde hair. "He reminds me of you, you know…" Arnold confessed, eyes closed and forehead against a locker.

Helga fell silent over the other end, though he could hear her breathing.

Arnold took it as a sign to go on, "Too outspoken for his own good, so full of anger… Oh, geez, Helga, if you could have seen the way he looked at me when I told him he wasn't stupid. If it weren't for the brown eyes, I'd have sworn it was you." He chuckled fondly. "You always did have the biggest eyes. I was always reminded of it whenever I said something to you that you didn't expect. They'd go almost as big as the sky itself."

Helga mumbled quietly, "Stupid little football headed geekbait…"

Arnold laughed deeply, shaking his head though she couldn't see. "You're such a jerk, Helga."

"I love you too," she replied sarcastically.

Arnold smiled into the phone for a few seconds, before he urged, "_So_?"

Helga sighed, the sound crackling over the cheap cell phone and sounding like it belonged to someone much older than her. "Fine, Arnold, _but_," she warned, "that's only _my_ agreement. I expect you to ask Amanda too."

Arnold smiled mischievously. "Now why would she mind?"

"Oh, gee, I wonder," she snorted. "Just ask, Harrison. I've got to go, Zack's trying to steal the phone from me and, whoa, whoa, wait—"

His son's voice suddenly hastily rang in his ear, making Arnold wince at it's unintended volume, "Yo, Daddykinz, Mama's gotta go now, _bye_!" The phone clicked off.

Arnold stared down at the phone in his hand for a moment, bewildered, before sighing and slipping it into his pocket.

"Um, Daddy?"

Arnold snapped around in pure fear, his heart jumping at seeing his youngest offspring staring up at him in innocent-eyed confusion. She blinked her huge green eyes at him, pigtails drooping. "Were you talking to Mom?"

Arnold blinked down at her, taking in fast-paced, steady breaths to try to calm himself down. "Uh, I, yes." His shoulders relaxed and he managed to put on a much less wan face. "Yes it was."

As if someone just flipped a switch, Amanda grinned and stood up straight. "So we're going home now?"

"Um, well," Arnold tried to start.

"Hey, Mr. Shortman, Mr. Shortman!" Chris suddenly came running down the hall waving his hand, his other one occupied with carrying a rather heavy looking skateboard under his arm. He stopped beside him and took a minute to catch his breath, before he launched into his news, "I called my parents and they're cool with me having dinner at your house! They can't make it but I—" his eyes came to lock onto Amanda at that moment, and his jaw fell slack. After a second, he clenched his free hand into a fist and angrily inquired, "What's she doing here?" Looking back to her, he growled, "Scram, Pig. Get along back to your pen."

Amanda's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "What am I doing here? He's _my_ dad! What are you doing here? And what do you mean you're having dinner at our house?" Her eyes snapped to Arnold's then, looking wretched, "What is he talking about?"

"Uh—" Arnold tried again, at a loss.

Chris interrupted any bumbled explanation he could have mustered, his eyes zipping from Amanda to Arnold several times. "He's your _dad_?" He suddenly looked dizzy.

Amanda nodded vigorously, mouth wide open. "Yeah! You couldn't see the resemblance? Or," she did a double take, "you never realized we have the same last name?"

Chris' eyes snapped to her again, looking fainter by the second. "Your last name is Shortman?"

Amanda gasped, repelling in disgust. "_You didn't know_?"

Chris scowled, leaning over into her personal space, much to her distaste. "Oh, please, as if you know mine!"

Amanda flicked her eyes up, mouth setting angrily. "It's Bacall! Chris Bacall! How stupid can you possibly—"

"Now, kids, kids," Arnold cut in, his brain finally catching up with reality as he took a step to stand in between them, "there's no need to fight—"

"Oh, there's never any need," Amanda hissed darkly, glaring at Chris around her father's legs. "Doesn't stop him."

Chris stared at her.

Arnold blinked his eyes wide, then cleared his throat. "Amanda, look, I'm sorry I didn't ask you beforehand. I was going to, but I guess I just ran out of time." He smiled apologetically at his seven-year-old, who looked up at him as if he'd just committed the very worst form of betrayal. "I'm truly sorry. I'd like to fix this." He sank down onto his knees and took one of her small hands, asking, "Amanda, would it be okay if we had Chris over for dinner tonight?"

Amanda stared at him in horror, her answer an involuntary squeak, "_No_!"

Chris jumped around Arnold's kneeled body and glared at her, throwing his skateboard down with a startling clatter that rang out through the hall. "Come on, _Amanda_! I've gotta eat too, and my parents already think I'm going to your house!" He pointed to Arnold sharply, glaring, "No takesies backsies, Shorty! It's not fair!"

Amanda snorted, eyes sharp. "Since when do you care about what's fair?"

"Since right now," Chris announced importantly, standing up straighter and crossing his arms, nose high.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, _really_." He glared viciously, lips sneering. "I'm turning over a new leaf." He sniffed.

Amanda's expression didn't budge. She didn't say anything more, just kept her angry distrusting look, eyes half-closed and one side of her mouth quirked down.

Arnold observed this for a second, lips pursed in trying hard not to smile. They were so much like—He shook his head, staying on task. "Amanda, it's only for one night, and it's just to figure out some tutoring arrangements for Chris. Are you sure you can't survive one dinner?"

Amanda looked at him with the saddest green eyes he'd ever seen, their once bright, gumdrop-like vividness lost to gray. He immediately wished he could take back the question. Instead, though, Amanda just bowed her head a little, bangs falling, and muttered, "Fine…"

Arnold was surprised for a split-second, but was shocked out of that when Chris suddenly jumped up high in the air. "Yes!" Grabbing up his skateboard from the floor, he started playing it as if it were an electric guitar.

Amanda just sighed, turning away from them both and beginning down the hall. "Let's just go already."

* * *

><p>The trip back to the house was fairly silent, the two kids scooted as far away from each other as they could manage in the back seat. Arnold was too afraid to set one of them off, so he stayed quiet.<p>

It was a forty-minute drive to the house. An agonizingly silent forty minutes. P.S. 118 was farther away from their home than the high school was. It wasn't until a bit later they realized just how far away the elementary actually was, though. Helga had been slapping her forehead about that one for months afterwards, but the neighborhood was beautiful enough that she came to not mind so much.

Though there was a time they wanted to, so used to the safe security of it, they couldn't have very well stayed in the boarding house all their life. They had a full house of their own. Plus Helga used to always stroke his hair in the dead of night when she thought he was asleep and whisper in his ear all the dreams she had for them. Dreams of coffee in Paris and non-stop adventure and thrills and a house by a lake with a white picket fence, 2.5 kids with big green and blue eyes and lovely blonde hair. She'd easily persuaded him, and before he knew it he was having similar dreams. Finding a nice house by the lake in a city proved severely difficult, though, and they found themselves having to venture out of Hillwood to find what they were looking for. Lucky for them Hillwood was a relatively small city, and easily exited, right off into the countryside. It was quiet out there, peaceful. Or at least it was before they had kids.

And here they were now, twenty-two years later with their dream house, mostly secluded from the rest of the neighborhood with a picket fence and _four_ kids, all of which a handful—they definitely got their non-stop thrills there. They hadn't been to Paris yet, but he planned on correcting that someday.

Right now though, they were pulling into the driveway of the house. Arnold turned off the car and pulled his keys out, turning around to address the kids. "Well, we're here." He coughed a bit awkwardly, trying to be the adult despite his slight guilt in this situation.

He realized then that they weren't looking at him, but past him, their heads tilted. Arnold blinked and turned around to see the garage door slowly rising.

It rose up to reveal Zack standing there tossing the remote back and forth in his hands, smirking at the car. As the door rose up as far as it could go and stopped, Zack did a sweeping bow gesturing inside before walking backwards out of the way.

Arnold stared, unimpressed and unmoving.

Zack stayed in the bow for a little while longer, before he realized nothing was happening and he straightened up, raising half his brow. He pointed inside with a long arm.

Arnold didn't move.

Finally, Zack's mouth twitched and he let his arm drop, eyes rolling. He walked over to the car and pointed for him to roll down the window, eyebrow furrowed.

Arnold shrugged and did so easily.

Zack leaned on his arms inside of the car and raised up half his brow once more to his father. "Uh, Dad, I know you're not exactly the sharpest when it comes to picking up on hints, but I was very clearly signaling for you to pull the car inside." His expression went flat.

"Ohhh, is that what that was?" Arnold asked mock-innocently, leaning back in his seat. "I thought you were signaling in the family helicopter."

Zack snorted, grinning at him. "Criminy, don't I _wish_. But seriously," he leaned in further, getting all up in Arnold's personal space, "there's supposed to be a storm today, and I don't want anything to fade or get dinged up by a tree branch or flying gerbil or something—"

"Zack, it's my car," Arnold said flatly.

Zack stuck out his tongue, shutting one eye for a second, before he grinned again brightly. "_For now_. When Grandpa finally gives in and gives you the Packard, though, Mom said I could have this car. So it's my _future_ car, Marty, and I don't want you screwing that up. Now either pull in the car, or I'll do it myself!" He made a grab for the keys.

Arnold held his hand back, though, arm stretching and leaning away from him as far as he could. "Whoa, whoa, you don't have a license yet, Zack!"

Zack pulled back from the car, grinning strangely. "Yeah, but I do have my permit, and you are an adult—so I can't be held liable for any damage or fiery explosions that may occur—"

"_Zachary_," Arnold deadpanned, giving him a look.

"_Arnold_," Zack retorted with feigned graveness. "Stop being difficult and just pull the car in. It takes a minute." He pulled his head out from the car window and pointed to the garage.

Arnold gave him a tired look before sighing and sticking the key back in the ignition. As he pulled up into the garage and Zack tried with all his might to pull the defective door back down, his feet dangling for only a moment before it came crashing and he yelped, Chris looked over at Amanda blankly and said the first words of the evening, "Is that your brother?"

Amanda didn't look at him, just muttered a simple, "Yep."

Chris paused for a moment before unbuckling his seat belt and expertly bypassing the child lock to get out of the car. "He's weird. I should have figured."

Amanda gritted her teeth, her fists clenching in her lap.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** No, it's not over. This is just part 1, and it is around 7,000 words. The next chapter is 10,000, and yes, it is quite finished. No worries. But since it ended up so long, I decided to split it in half so it's easier to read. I'll post the second half very soon.

Now for those happy, squealy, I'm-gonna-die-I'm-so-freaking-happy notes… :D

Okay, the lovely Ms. **Writergirl97** wrote THREE, count 'em, THREE new fics with my characters…

…:D…:'D…:''''D *WATERFALL TEARS*

She is fab-u-lous, ladies and gentlemen. Her fics are absolutely hilarious, and one of which made me practically have a seizure (in a good way XD). I definitely recommend them, especially if you've got a thing for Phil. ;D Check them out!

And now I must mention a good friend of mine, **Panfla**, did some fanart… of Zack… and an OC we made up (expect to meet her soon)… and Phil… and they're so squeal-worthy. She puts my art to shame. XD IF YOU LIKE THIS FIC AT ALL YOU HAVE TO GO CHECK THOSE OUT BECAUSE THEY'RE AMAZING. Zack looks exactly how I picture him, and Phil's adorable. Seriously, check them out. I'm still dying from shock. XD

Lol, well, tell me what you think so far, guys! Like I said, part 2 will be up soon. Hope you guys are interested so far… ._.

SPOON POWER.

**_REVIEW_**

**_TO_**

**_THE_**

**_MOON_**

**_ALICE_**


	7. Almost Perfect: Part 2

**A/N: **Mehhh, decided to post already. Because I am bored and want to. I'm also extremely tired at the moment. Boo.

In le order:

**~Lovely People~**

Gloria Spark

Panfla

metalheadrailfan

braygirl

Nep2une

acosta perez jose ramiro

Narcisa Le Fay

pinkdolphin92

Thanks for letting me know what you think! It's nice to know that you guys are enjoying this, because I really love writing for you. AWKWARD HUGS FOR EVERYBODY. Wheeee~!

**Disclaimer:** AYYE AYYYE AYYYE AYYYYYYYE... own it all. And am also the Frito Bandito, give me your freaking chips. Oh, and the entire concept of "_Hey Arnold_!" is Craig Beautiful-Bartletts. PEACE!

* * *

><p><strong>Almost Perfect<strong>

**Part 2**

* * *

><p>"Geez," Zack winced, nursing his sore wrist. "The price you pay for your car."<p>

"Ha," Phil smirked. "I wouldn't worry. You probably deserved it."

Zack shot him an amused look, pushing him away as he walked through the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

Phil stumbled, only managing to gain his balance back when his hand hit the wall. Gaining back some composure, he glared menacingly at the back of Zack's head, willing it to burst into flames.

Phil made to turn around then, only to have his green eyes smash into two judgmental brown ones. Stumbling back, he waved his arms at the stranger defensively, yelping. "Whoa, hold up, what the heck is _this_?" He looked around himself accusingly, putting his hands on his hips. "I don't remember anyone warning me about another one of Dad's losers."

Chris sniffed, ragingly offended, and stood to his full height. "I'm called a _guest_, Mud Head. I was invited here."

Phil looked at him dryly. "Wow, seriously? I never could have guessed that." He rolled his eyes and turned away from him, waving a hand behind himself as he walked away. "It doesn't matter. You'll be nothing more than a fading memory soon enough."

Chris' shoulders stiffened, and Amanda traipsed daintily around him to follow after her brothers to the kitchen. She thought better of it, though, and stopped to wave Chris along. "Come on," her soft voice rang plainly.

Chris didn't make any expression. Simply followed after her. Arnold wandered into the house and locked the door shut just in time to see them disappear into the dining room, and he smiled ever so slightly to himself. "So far so good. They haven't killed each other yet." Putting his keys away in his pocket, he scratched his head a little. "Kinda odd. Helga and I would have been screaming at each other by now."

"_Football Head_!" his lovely wife's voice screeched across the house out of the blue, ripping the wallpaper to shreds. "Get your scrawny ass in here right now and start setting the table!"

Arnold smiled ruefully, shaking his head a little and making his shaggy, wild hair sway at the tips. Some things never changed; and it never failed to surprise him just how comforting he found that to be. Chuckling, he made his way down the hall and hollered back, "Coming, Helga! Patience is a virtue!"

"Yeah, and not one I possess—_hurry the heck up_!"

Wandering into the dining room, he found Zack and Phil waging a battle of paper football, Ham sitting on the sidelines watching boredly. Amanda hopped up to sit beside Phil, leaning closer over the table to try to better observe his technique. Chris stood at the end of the table awkwardly, eyes shifting around to take in the room.

But it was just a simple dining room. There wasn't anything interesting to behold. A plain, family-sized wooden table wiped to shine, old cushioned dining chairs, a large, glass cabinet to keep their dishes safe, and warm colored walls with a few paintings he'd done in college hung here and there. Pictures of fruit and nuts and an interestingly split tree he'd once seen on a class trip. Nothing that should engage such an intense interest, though. Smiling, Arnold walked over to the cabinet to pull out some plates and began setting them down on the table. Glancing over at Chris curiously for a moment, he divided some of the plates and offered a couple to him. "Hey, Chris, why don't you help me out a little? These are heavy."

Chris seemed startled, but he took the plates nonetheless and stuttered, "Uh, yeah, I guess—"

One of the plates slipped out from under his fingers and smashed into the floor, causing a violent shudder to wave through his small form.

"AH!" Zack jumped high in his seat, pointing to the offending plate with his mouth wide. "The first sign of the apocalypse has struck! Quick, everyone, get under the table!"

Phil just gaped at the plate, eyes snapping from it to the boy's face in alarm. "_Kid_, what the heck?"

"Do I yell Yahtzee now?" Ham asked tiredly, yawning.

"Oh, that's fine," Arnold soothed, setting the plates down so he could kneel to observe the mess more closely. "Nothing I can't glue back together. I should have made sure you had a good grip on them before I let go." Standing back up again, he handed him another plate, adjusting his hands a little for him so they wouldn't fall, then smiled and went over to the cabinet again to get a new one. "No harm done."

Chris still shook a little in his spot, eyes straight ahead and dilated.

Zack chuckled, flicking the paper football without looking as he observed the boy. It smacked into Phil's face dead center, but he didn't notice. "Hey, you okay over there?"

Chris blinked once, tightly, before snapping his eyes over to the teenager with his lips pursed. "I'm _fine_."

"Don't look fine to me," Zack commented, shrugging. Turning his attention back to the game a moment, he laughed at Phil's glaring eyes and flat expression. Shaking his head, he added, "There's no reason to feel bad you know. Phil breaks the plates all the time. He's a total butterfingers."

Phil gawked at his audacity, slamming his hands on the table as he leaned over in offense. "I am not!"

"You are kind of a butterfingers, Phil," Ham muttered tiredly, eyes bleary and head resting in a large hand on the table.

Phil cut his eyes at him, flopping back down into his seat. "Way to take sides, _Josh_."

Ham sighed, opening his eyes wider. "You know I hate that—"

"Doi, Josh, that's the point," Phil deadpanned, looking at him sarcastically.

Ham shook his head. "I was just saying, Phil. I didn't mean to offend you."

"_Okay_, then how about I call you a two-bit dweebasaurus rex then, huh?" Phil asked, voice raising an octave and eyes going a wild, forest green, set aflame with madness. "How about I tell you you're nothing but a pretty-faced nerd with no actual prospects or future and that you'll probably end up as one of those losers that sit around on the phone all day calling families like us right in the middle of dinner time in hopes that they'll buy something that _nobody_ on this _God forsaken_ planet _actually wants_? Huh? Why don't I tell you that, and then just assume you won't get offended because, hooo, _it's only the facts_! I was only meaning to _inform you_!" Phil near screamed, leaning over the table all the way to get as close as he possibly could to Ham's beleaguered face. "You imbecilic beast! What intricate mediocrity you wrought without barely a blink! You're no better than Mom when she tells me to finish those infernal peas!"

"Phil," Arnold said unperturbed, placing a plate in front of him, "sit back down please. We're not having peas tonight."

"Oh," Phil faltered in his outrage and blinked his eyes a few times as his expression relaxed. "Oh… Well," he sat back down calmly and ran a hand down his sweater to clear it of any wrinkles, "all righty then."

"You went off your medication again, didn't you?" Zack asked in a deep tone, leaning on his elbow across the table to look at him with a mockingly grave expression. Phil just gave him a flat faced look in response, unimpressed with his quip.

"Wow," the boy still standing at the end of the table murmured, bringing everyone's attention to him. His eyes roved slowly over them all with the strangest look they'd ever seen. "You're all nuts."

They all paused at that, eyes blinking.

"Uh," Ham raised a lazy hand in the air, waving it a little, "I'm not. In my defense."

"Ah, Josh," Zack sighed wistfully, sliding an arm around his shoulders and giving him a firm pat with his free hand, "we will soon fix that."

"I'd really rather you didn't—"

"All right, ya bunch of chuckle heads," Helga's voice came booming as she waltzed into the room, carrying a heavy pot in her wake, "soups on!" She lifted the pot up and let it fall with a racket onto the table.

Arnold was at her side in an instant, looking her over worriedly. "Are you okay, Helga? You know I could have helped—"

"Oh, I don't need any help," Helga waved him off before casting him a loving smile. She rarely ever needed his help but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate the gentlemanly offer. Even if she had needed help, she never wanted to take advantage of his sweet nature. That was what everyone else did—but not her, never her. Wiping her hands off on her apron, she tore it off and placed it over her chair, speaking to the room, "Okay, since I heard we had a guest coming over, I tried to be a little fancier than usual." She rolled her eyes with a smile, pulling the lid off the pot to reveal a steaming… thing. "So I made asparagus and ham casserole."

Phil's pupils dilated as soon as his eyes connected with it, and he looked up at her, wide-eyed and sickly pale. "Geez, Mom… why… why would you do this? I thought you loved me."

Helga raised an eyebrow at him and leaned over to run a hand through his soft brown hair. "Of course I love you, darling. It won't kill you to try it."

Zack shook his head and laid back in his chair to cast the idly standing Chris an apologetic look. "Sorry for this, kid. Shortman women aren't known for their cooking ability. Just, if an alien insectoid doesn't rip out of your stomach within the next twenty-four hours, you should be safe."

Helga whacked him in the head with her spatula, unamused. "You keep quiet, short man. You know the rules, no being a dork at the dinner table."

"I'm not short!" Zack yelped, sinking low in his seat with a disturbed pout.

Helga shot him a look. "Maybe not now, but the ceramic pot you're about to get to the head should shrink you down a few inches."

Phil cackled, pointing at him across the table with wicked delight. "She got you!"

Zack exhaled a puff of hot air from his nose, grumbling.

Arnold pulled another chair up to the table and sat down in the seat beside it, next to Zack, and gestured it to the brown-eyed boy. "You can sit here, Chris," he offered warmly.

Chris looked at it oddly, before pulling the chair out and hopping up into it. He sat the plates he still had in his hands out onto the middle of the table, a little embarrassed that he hadn't done anything with them before. Coughing uncomfortably, he said mechanically, "Thank you, Mrs. Shortman. This looks really good."

Helga did a little silent scoff to herself, beginning to cut into the casserole. "Yes, even a woman named _Helga_ can make a nice meal for her family."

"Helga," Arnold scolded quietly, shooting a look her way.

She shrugged her shoulders innocently, placing the neat little crumble onto her daughter's plate. "I'm just putting it out there."

Zack leaned over to mumble out of the corner of his mouth to Arnold, "Do I want to know?"

Arnold sighed. "Probably."

Before he could inquire any further, a plate clattered in front of Zack, making him start. "No whispering at the table." She slid a piece of casserole onto his plate, giving him a sharp warning look. He just grinned his brightest in return.

"'manda," Ham's questioning tone sounded as he looked at her curiously, "you haven't said anything since you got here. Are you okay?"

Amanda looked up at him, her face soft and subdued and not at all lit with it's usual bubbly smile. "I'm fine, Ham."

"_Ham_?" Chris suddenly piped in a ridiculous voice, twisting around to look at the teenager with his face twisted, "What kind of a name is that?"

Ham blinked, startled. "Uh, it's just a nickname—"

Chris snorted, his lips sneering. "That's stupid. Are you a meat product? Are we eating you right now?" He gestured widely to the casserole on everyone's plates.

"Hey!" Phil suddenly shouted, standing up from his seat furiously with an intense scowl. "Who the heck do you think you are? You shut your trap!"

"Phillip—" Arnold tried.

"No!" Phil snapped, pointing at him still with a scowl. "No, no, no, don't you 'Phillip' me! He said it himself, he's a guest, and that means he's required to shut the heck up!"

"Phil, it's okay." Ham put a hand up, face clean of emotion and still heavy with needed sleep. "I'm used to people joking around about it."

"Then why don't you change it?" Chris' voice came in high-pitched incredulity, staring at him.

"Um, Mom," Amanda piped up timidly, wishing desperately for this to end, "there aren't any forks."

She'd said this just as Helga had sat down, and her shoulders stiffened instantly at the information. Eyes darting around the table, she realized she was correct. There was a pause in her movements, before she slid back up from her chair with a dark toned grumble and marched angrily over to the cabinet to pull some silverware from the drawer. "Always a damn production."

Arnold laughed sheepishly, rising from his seat to help her. "I'm sorry, dear, it completely slipped my mind."

Helga just rolled her eyes, shoving the silverware into his hands. Things always slipped his mind when he was on one of his little charity ventures.

As his father set the silverware beside his plate, Phil begrudgingly sank back down into his chair, keeping his eyes slit at their 'guest.'

"So," Zack clapped his hands together, changing the subject for Amanda's sake, "first day back in school! Total hell, am I right?"

Ham immediately groaned, slamming his head down onto his arm on the table. "You have _no idea_. I'm going to kill whoever's idea it was to have a big test on the first week back in school."

"_Ha_," Phil laughed once with a smirk.

This managed to get Ham's attention, and he lifted his head up to open his blue eyes wide at his younger brother, mouth falling slowly open. "_First_ you scream at me, _then_ you defend me, now you're laughing at my pain. Will I _ever_ understand you, Phil?"

Phil pouted his lips out, flicking a loose green bean at him.

"Hey, hey, hey," Helga raised her voice, smacking his hand down. "No food fights. I'm not having a repeat of last month's fiasco. I'm still finding scraps of beans around the house." She shot her eyes up with a grimace.

"It flew so elegantly," Zack reminisced with a far away look. "Who knew?"

"Never should have given them plastic cutlery," Arnold murmured, picking up some casserole with his fork and putting it in his mouth.

"Yeah, we really shouldn't have been lazy with the dishes that night," Helga sighed, shaking her head. "Lesson learned."

Amanda giggled at this show, forgetting herself, and announced with a gleam, "I love beans."

Apparently this inspired Chris to sniff out, "I hate beans."

Phil cut his eyes at him, one hand absentmindedly picking at his food. He snapped his head to his father and asked lowly, his mouth as slow to form the words as his brain was in accepting them, "Why is he here?"

Arnold's eyes flew apologetically from a stiff-lipped Amanda to Phil, and straightened up in his chair, trying to be the professional he was as he explained, "Chris just had a little trouble today in class, so I invited him over to discuss tutoring arrangements." The response came a bit too mechanical for his liking.

Phil barked out a cruel laugh, destroying any pleasant atmosphere that had been residing in the room, before he bowed his head down, green eyes dark beneath his brown locks as he stared at the second grader. "Criminy, he must be really dumb to be needing _tutoring_."

Chris looked stricken, chest heaving as if he was about to scream something really inappropriate.

Arnold stopped any such catastrophe from occurring when he slammed his fist down on the table, yelling, "Phillip Robert Craig! You apologize right now!"

"Okay," Phil chimed too brightly, smiling insincerely at Chris, "I'm sorry you're an idiot."

"_Phillip_!"

Helga leaned forward in her seat, scowling warningly at him with a fork pointed. "Listen to your father, Phil, or so help me—"

"It's not my fault he's a jerk!" Phil yelled, offended he was even getting in trouble for this.

"You're the one being the jerk, Phil," Ham tried to tell him calmly.

Phil's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to protest when suddenly his eyes bolted open and he yelped in pain. Reaching a hand down to nurse his leg, he glared at Zack. "Did you _kick me_?"

Zack shrugged slightly, eyes down, and muttered quietly, "Just apologize, Phil."

Still rubbing his sore leg, he stared in gaping disbelief.

"Phil—" Arnold tried once more, reaching a hand out in gesture.

The room fell violently silent when Chris' chair suddenly screeched against the floorboards, and his voice bellowed hoarsely across the room in lightbulb shattering rage, "_Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" _

Seeing them all shell-shocked into quiet, Chris huffed and sank back down into his seat. "Good." He went back to eating his food, as if he hadn't just scared the living daylights out of everyone.

After a few minutes, Helga wheezed out a tense breath, unsure whether to be angry or thankful. "Uh… that was…"

"Interesting…" Arnold finished for her, staring at the boy out of the corner of his eye as he ate.

"And by interesting, you mean _boss_," Zack giggled, lightening the mood a tad.

"_I_ think it was _rude_."

All eyes snapped in surprise to Amanda, where she had her eyes narrowed fiercely at Chris. He blinked at her, dark eyes just as surprised. He managed to gain back enough composure to huff at her, though, and bit out with a mock, "Nobody asked you, _'manda_."

She growled, her fists clenching under the table. "You weaseled your way into my home, you should at least be polite."

"I was _invited_," he ground out, daggers flying from his eyes. "I didn't want to come."

"Then you shouldn't have."

"Your _dad_ insisted."

"Yes," she agreed in a lighter tone, sitting up straight in her seat, "because he's nice. Unlike you."

Chris harrumphed, having no more to add.

"So…" Zack drew out awkwardly to the strange atmosphere, before a grin broke out on his face and he looked at his dad, "who's gonna, ya know, tutor the kid?"

Arnold, grateful for the subject change, spoke honestly, "Well, I was thinking at the end of the school day every other day I could stay at the school an extra hour to give him a little help."

"Arnold," Helga frowned at him, "you know you drive Amanda home every day. If you stayed after for an extra hour, who's going to take her home? Me? You know how much gas that eats up."

"Well," Arnold hesitated, wincing a little as he finished slowly, "I was thinking she could help…"

Amanda's face was swept of all emotion as soon as these words reached her.

Helga bowed her head ever so slightly, giving him a look that told him she knew exactly what he was doing. Casually popping another bite of food into her mouth, she stuffed it into one cheek and said, innocently enough, "Oh, well, I guess that would work. If Amanda was okay with it anyway."

"Um," Amanda babbled out, her posture tense.

Chris stared at her, waiting.

The chocolate eyes on her made her even more uncomfortable, and she sputtered desperately, "Couldn't I just stay over at Elli's on those days instead? Then her mom could drive me back to school in the morning?" Amanda seemed enchanted with the idea, growing ever more enthused as she went on, "We could do our homework together and write poems and play tea party." Hands clasping themselves over the table, she leaned over to look almost beggingly at her father. "Oh, Daddy, _please _could I?"

Shoulders and expression stiff, Arnold's eye twitched slightly.

Helga noticed this and jumped in to save him, looking adoringly at her youngest, "Sweetheart, we don't even know if the Bermans would be okay with that."

"We could _ask_," Amanda begged, choking slightly on the thick emotion.

Helga had never seen her daughter frown so much. Her heart clenched. "Uh, I, um…" She broke into a sweat, struggling to keep her resolve. She never thought it would be so hard to refuse anyone of the 'Little Miss Perfect' variety. It just so figured she would give birth to one. She hated irony. She tried to swallow, only to realize her mouth was bone dry.

Phil was gobbling up his food without even looking, absorbed in the scene, as if it were one of his favorite movies. Zack just looked awkward, sitting there in such an uncomfortable atmosphere and having to bite back comment after comment. Ham had long dozed off in his seat, head resting against his hand and quiet snores falling from his lips.

Arnold bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, hoping and praying someone would say something before he could.

He was saved when the phone rang suddenly, startling Ham enough that his arm jerked away and his face splattered down into the casserole. Head shooting back up, he coughed, his hand dragging down his face to try to remove the remnants of green beans. It was just the thing needed to break Zack from his nervousness and make him explode into laughter.

Voice more relieved that he'd have liked to betray, Arnold wondered aloud as he stood up, "Now who could that be?"

"Betcha it's a telemarketer," Phil guessed glumly, disappointed with the interruption.

As Arnold exited the room, Helga stared tentatively at the children. Things were not going quite as planned for her husband, she was sure, but she was uncertain of how exactly to assist. For whatever reason, she'd assumed something like this wouldn't be happening until well into their golden years, and although they were not the young, vivacious twenty-year-olds they once had been, they certainly were not elderly. She supposed in retrospect she should have seen this coming. Kids picked on each other all the time, and who wouldn't be charmed by dear sweet Amanda? The splitting image of her father that she was, and certain other people that would remain unnamed for eternity. Angel ran in the family. But still, she felt unprepared.

A cough broke her from her thoughts when her husband reentered the room and sat down, his face down. "Just someone asking if we had life insurance."

"Called it," Phil grinned, doing a small fist pump in victory. "Ham's future job strikes again."

Ham growled a little at him, still feebly attempting to wipe spare bits of ham and green beans from his face.

Zack grinned his approval, just as Amanda was sinking down in her seat, the only things peaking out from under the table being the top half of big, brilliantly shining green eyes and the top of her giant bow. Arnold noticed this and coughed again, having had a little time to collect himself. "Amanda…" he began gently.

She just groaned and ducked her head fully under.

Just as Arnold was opening his mouth, a hand came down on his shoulder and he looked over to see Zack giving him a look. It was one he'd worn many times himself as a child, the one that let people know just what he thought of their harebrained schemes. But, perhaps against his better judgment, Arnold shook his head at him. Zack just sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, his face expertly cleared of emotion.

Opening his mouth, Arnold began once more, "Faith, sweetie, an arrangement like that would be rather complicated to sort out. And it would only be going on for a few weeks, tops."

Her voice made a small whine from under the table.

Chris seemed to have had enough of this charade, and he pushed his plate away with a jerk and crossed his arms roughly over his chest, eyes hidden beneath his eyebrows. "Hey, if the little princess can't be bothered for one measly little hour of her time, then who cares? Let her go over to her stupid little friend's house."

Within half a second, the room was ablaze from Amanda's death stare as she snapped up from under the table. The burning rage that tumbled and swirled beneath her normally serene eyes was enough to make Chris' eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he glared back pathetically.

"I mean," he had the nerve to add, "after all, Amanda _always_ gets her way. Why should now be any different?"

"You want," she shoved herself up from the table, the words tumbling out strained, "to be, tutored? _Fine_." Her soft voice wavered as she took in a harsh breath. "One plus one equals two, two plus one equals three, two plus two equals four—get it so far? Because you'd be surprised just how simple things become, when you _pay attention _to the right way of _doing them_." Looking down, she asked quietly, "May I be excused now?"

"Uh," both Arnold and Helga started in a baffled fluster.

Not waiting for any further permission, she wandered calmly out of the room.

Chris stared after her facelessly.

"So," Phil started, completely unaffected by what had just taken place as he balanced his fork between his forefingers and looked casually at Chris, "your problem's in math? Second grade addition? Fascinating… Funny, though, I don't recall that ever being all that difficult—OW!" He glared at Zack, who just cut his eyes back in response.

"I need sleep," Ham groaned, throwing his head back.

* * *

><p>A knock came at the door.<p>

An agonized moan was pressed into the pillow as she pulled it harder over her head. She made no further response.

There was a pause on the other side of the door, before it opened up a crack and one large blue eye peeked inside. "Amanda?" a soft, motherly voice came.

Amanda sighed, pulling the soft pink pillow from her face. She kept her eyes on the ceiling. "Is he gone?"

Helga entered the room, not bothering to flick the light on, and walked over to her daughter's dimly lit beside. Pulling up the chair they'd kept by her bed whenever she insisted on a bedtime story, she sat down and stroked her sunshiny bangs back from her eyes. "Your father's driving him home now."

Amanda didn't react to her mother's touch. Normally she would smile or blink her eyes wide and happy at her, but now she just kept her eyes up to the ceiling. "Good."

Helga pursed her lips, concern stressing at her brow. The room was silent for a while as Helga began chewing at her lip, unsure of what to say. She used to be so much better at planning things out. Motherhood had made her soft—too concerned to think before she acted. She mentally smacked herself for her thoughtlessness. Of all the times. This could be a very critical conversation and here she was sitting like a clueless idiot. She was starting to understand how her husband must feel all the time.

The sound of her daughter's soft voice nearly made her fall over in shock, "I didn't want him to come. I don't want to tutor him." Her big green eyes turned over to look up at her, the light of the lamp reflecting off of them. "I really don't. Do I have to?"

Helga gulped, eyes wide. A moment later, she answered, "Well, you don't have to if you really don't want to, but you already said you would. Your father would be disappointed." For Helga, this would have been an obvious out, and one she would have gleefully taken, but she knew her daughter better than that. She couldn't say no to something she'd already agreed to.

She furrowed her brows at this, displeased with the reminder.

Her face softening some, Helga ceased stroking her hair and put her hand down on the bed to support herself as she leaned closer with a reassuring smile. "It won't be so bad, angel. Who knows? Maybe it'll turn out better than you think." Her smile turned a bit sly.

At this, her daughter's face darkened and her eyebrows dropped. She didn't even have time to be surprised before Amanda mumbled, "That's what I'm afraid of."

"What?" Helga blinked.

"Nothing," she sulked, turning over on her side and pulling the covers up over herself. Her next words came as a muffle, "I just don't want to. You saw how rude he is. Why should I have to deal with that anymore than I have to?"

Helga chuckled, smiling fondly at the pale pink lump. "You remind me so much of your father sometimes."

The lump didn't respond to that. Helga could just imagine the confused look on her face at the seemingly random statement. Grinning with mischievous amusement, she added, "Now I'm sure he can't be _that_ bad, Amanda. He just needs a little help with math is all, and Arnold will be there the entire time. It's not like we're sending you in to face down a bull."

The lump grumbled at that.

Shaking her head, Helga rose from her seat and leaned down to kiss the lump's head. "It's about bed time for you, my love. Get some sleep. You've got school in the morning."

Amanda never thought she'd see the day she'd be loathing the idea of going to school. She groaned beneath the covers and stretched her toes out, her mind raging.

She heard her mother click off the light and head for the door. As the near silent creak of it beginning to close reached her ears, her mother uttered some final words, "You know, I think he likes you more than he lets on."

There were a few quiet moments of silence then, before her mother softly shut the door with a deft click.

Just as she closed the door, Amanda pulled the covers from her head and shot her eyes to the ceiling. "_I know_," she groaned in utter despair, pulling her pillow up over her head again to muffle her screams.

* * *

><p>The drive to his home was silent. For his part, Chris' face remained impassive the entire way, his eyes staring out the window, seeing but not seeing.<p>

Arnold was careful when he glanced at him in the mirror. Despite it, though, he'd made eye contact with him a couple times, though he hadn't seemed to care. He'd just stared blankly back before Arnold looked away.

He'd called ahead for directions before they'd come. The woman on the phone had been soft-voiced and a bit hesitant at times. She seemed nice, albeit a bit confused. Arnold wondered if Chris had really called to ask permission or not, because she'd asked a lot of questions about things she should have already known. He hadn't pressed it, though. He found himself trusting this boy. He wasn't sure why. He just struck a cord in him. He seemed so familiar. At first he'd dismissed it as him reminding him of Helga, which he did, but he knew it was more than that. He felt like he knew him somehow. Though that was impossible.

His head swimming with thoughts, he pulled up into the driveway of the apartment complex and turned the car off. As the metal beast clicked to sleep, he turned around in his seat to face Chris only to see he was already getting out of the car. Eyes wide with surprise, Arnold blinked and jerked a little when the door slammed shut.

He turned around and got out of the car. As he clicked the button on his keys to lock the doors, he looked over to where he'd thought Chris had headed off. His body jerked around when he realized he was gone.

Some panic gripping at him unbidden, he called out as calmly as he could, "Chris?"

"Go home."

Going rigid for only a second, Arnold blinked out of his surprise and turned slowly around. Chris was leaning against the back of the car near where the trunk was popped open, his backpack hanging carelessly from one of his shoulders with his skateboard sticking out.

Arnold's jaw dropped. He hadn't opened the trunk. "How did you…"

Chris held up a screwdriver. His voice came without any real tone, "I popped it open as we were pulling up. Your car is old. I'd get a new one if I were you. This one would be easily robbed."

Arnold blinked incredulously. "I didn't hear it open."

Chris shrugged, stuffing the screwdriver back into his pocket. "You weren't paying attention. Not my problem." He sniffed, adjusting his backpack a little as he stood back up from against the car. "Look, we can start this whole tutoring thing on Wednesday. I've got plans tomorrow." He began towards the metal stairs, tossing over his shoulder as he passed him, "Now go home."

Arnold blinked once more, before he ran over to him and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He started, jerking his hand off as he swiveled around. He looked up at him with a tinge of anger. "What?"

Arnold withdrew his hand from the air. "I can't just let you go up there alone." He tried smiling.

Chris just frowned deeply, before reaching behind himself and pulling something out of his pocket. For a second Arnold thought it would be another screwdriver or some kind of weapon, but instead he just held up a key, not offering it to him, just showing. "I can go up fine on my own. I do it all the time."

Arnold's eyes widened. "You're eight."

"And you're balding. You don't see me pointing it out." He scowled. "Go home."

"I—"

"Just go already. Your _family's_ waiting," his voice grumbled lowly, before he turned around and marched purposely towards the apartments.

Arnold blinked, a blind hand reaching up to touch at his hair.

Just as Chris was halfway up the creaky metal of the stairs, he heard an extra loud squeak and snapped his head around to see Arnold following after him. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

Arnold just sighed and pushed him along up the stairs, not bothering to answer. That would only invoke an argument and this wasn't something they could discuss.

Chris was unwillingly pushed up the remainder of the stairs, forced to listen to them groan and wail at the added weight. It wasn't long before he was being led along the long balcony, riddled with dried mud and desperately in need of some WD40.

As they made it to the door of his apartment, 13, Arnold gave a strong few knocks on the door. Chris glared at him and held up his key again, waving it around in a 'Duh' motion. He didn't hesitate to stuff the key in the lock, but just as he was about to turn it the door swung open. Chris jumped back in shock, bumping his back into Arnold's legs. Arnold would have wondered why he was so jumpy, but he was too busy wondering why he hadn't mentioned he had a grandma.

The woman looked to be about in her sixties, her face slightly chubby and flushed with health. Her gray hair tumbled to her shoulders and her crystally eyes blinked at him in surprise.

Arnold smiled a congenial smile. "Hello, I'm Arnold Shortman, Chris' teacher. I just came over to drop Chris off." He patted Chris on the shoulder, noting how tense it was. Looking down at him, he asked the woman, "Are his parents home? I'd like to have a word with them."

The woman blinked again, eyeing the boy before looking back up at him with a strange face. "I'm afraid not… Haven't been for four years now."

Arnold's eyes widened. Chris pulled away from his suddenly tight grip on his shoulder and pushed past the lady into the house.

"Chris," Arnold called.

"Oh, leave him be," the woman said with a smile, looking at him with a level of understanding. "He's a sweet boy but he just needs a little time to himself every once in a while." She reached forward to shake his hand. "I'm Fawn, Chris' aunt."

Arnold made a small noise of surprise, before shaking her hand back. Aunt. But she looked so old… Now that he looked at her he supposed she could pass for fifty. He found himself flushing a little at having assumed such a thing about such a nice woman. "Um, it's nice to meet you…" He smiled, a tad lost. "But where are his parents? If I may ask, I mean…"

The woman's smile lessened.

Arnold stumbled to explain, "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't ask, but he'd said—"

"Oh no, no, it's fine," she waved him off, her smile the same. "He does this all the time." She dragged a long sigh from her mouth, leaning her hip against the doorframe. "His mother went up and left one day, and it devastated his father. Ended up dropping him off with me and carting off. Something about not being a good enough father for him. Haven't seen either since. My sister can be rather thoughtless but I'd thought better of him. It's a shame." Shaking her head, she widened her smile a little at him, trying to lighten things up a bit. "He's a good boy, though. His father sends money from time to time, always makes him so happy." Her smile vanished. "He hasn't gotten in trouble has he?"

"Huh? Oh, not at all," Arnold assured her, a bit dazed. Shaking his head, he tried to smile more kindly and professional. "He's just been having some trouble in math. It's the same case every time—he just doesn't know what he's capable of. I know inviting him over for dinner might have seemed a little unorthodox but I like to take a more hands on approach with my students. I was hoping I could tutor him on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to help him improve."

"Oh, no trouble at all," she smiled. She hesitated then, and Arnold got the chilling vibe that he was under a severe amount of scrutiny. "Would it…" she started suddenly, seeming reluctant about something, "Would it be a problem if he had the tutoring sessions here?"

Arnold tried to maintain his smile, despite the sudden uncomfortableness that had settled between them. "Well, I was thinking I could just tutor him in the classroom after class. It would only be for an hour, and it would save gas. I could drive him home since you don't live too far off from the school. Is that a problem?"

"Oh, well…" She bit her lip.

It suddenly dawned on Arnold that he was a complete stranger to this woman, coming to her home after only the first day of school. Of course she wouldn't trust him. He wouldn't trust himself either. As the realization swept over him, Arnold rooted himself to his spot, embarrassed. "Oh, I am so sorry. I know this is very out of the blue… My daughter would be with us, if that helps."

"Oh, you're married?" She softened a tad.

Arnold's face lit up without his realizing. "Yes, seventeen years. With four kids."

Fawn threw her head back in warm laughter. Shaking her head at him, she grinned with cheeks flushed, "Ohhh, you sure have your hands full."

Arnold's smile was immediately weighted down with the truth in that statement. "Oh, you have _no_ idea…" Wanting to prove it to her and further reassure her of his safety, he pulled his wallet out and flipped it open, a tumble of photos falling out in a neat plastic link like an accordion. She made a small noise of delight as she browsed through the pictures. "Is this your daughter?" She held one up with a grin.

Arnold chuckled. Women always got all gushy whenever he mentioned his kids. He couldn't blame them—especially not when it came to Amanda. She was darling. Smiling as he looked down at the picture, a bit faded around the edges, he pulled it out so she could see it more clearly. His thumbs fit perfectly in the faded edges of the photograph, and he chuckled again without meaning to. It had been taken at a trip to the beach when she was three, and she was the smallest thing, grinning too big at the camera with the water lapping her feet. "Yep, that's my Faith."

She cooed over the picture, making the strange, alien noises that spluttered out of people when they saw babies. "Oh, she's precious. How old is she now?"

"Seven—and three months if you listen to her." He grinned, in quite the good mood now as he looked at the pictures. Pictures of Phil at five pouting after his ice cream had fallen, Zack at twelve trying to push a ten-year-old Josh out of the picture as he crossed his eyes at the camera with his tongue sticking out, Amanda dressed in her best hoisted up on Timberly's shoulders in her wedding dress with them grinning like fools, Helga guffawing at a gaping Zack when Ham had pushed his birthday cake into his face, Grandpa giving a horrified Phil a big kiss on the cheek, and then, his personal favorite, their family portrait—AKA, Dooms Day, Volume 6. Helga was the only one that actually looked pleasant. Arnold had his hand pressed up against Zack's face to try to calm him down with his face frozen in shock at the camera going off, Ham laughing ferociously with his finger pointed at Zack, and Phil glaring nastily at Amanda, looking ready to burst with his face bright red, as she looked up at him cluelessly. He didn't know how they had all managed to get themselves so worked up right before picture day, but they'd accomplished it.

He was snapped out of his reminiscing when Fawn handed the picture back to him, her face flushed with a sudden likeness towards him. "Oh, that is too cute. I'd always wanted a daughter. You're very lucky."

Arnold's eyes softened. "I know."

Before any further words could be exchanged, Chris suddenly shoved his way into the doorway in front of his aunt and glared up at his new teacher. "Yeah, very lucky, very lucky, we get it—_now go home already_!" The door slammed shut in his face, a gust of overly freshened air bursting in his face.

Arnold stared at the door a while, his wallet still out and free hand clutching onto the faded photo. He stared at nothing, feeling the cool wet of raindrops begin to kiss at his nose. Before long, he wordlessly placed the picture back into his wallet and put it away, before turning to the creaking metal deathtrap that was the staircase. His eyes still soft, he began down it to his car. "I will."

* * *

><p>By the time Arnold arrived home, he'd come to a decision.<p>

Talking to that woman had reminded him of just how lucky he truly was. Once upon a time he'd been an orphan living in a boarding house with a family that most of which he wasn't even related to. He'd always tried to make do and see what he had for it's full worth, but that hadn't changed that he'd still been sad. He knew exactly how Chris felt. Having your parents just up and leave at the drop of a hat and never coming back was confusing and hurtful. He'd had to live with that pain for most of his childhood as well.

He'd been a short kid with an awkwardly sized head and a hat ten times too small, with kids constantly snickering at him because they thought he wore a skirt. He'd often felt alone, but he'd grown used to it. Accustomed even. It had matured him, and he'd found himself humbled to the world. This big, exciting world that seemed so small and plain without his loved ones.

But everything had changed, and now he was here. It felt strange to be so old. He didn't feel old. Most of his childhood memories still felt just like yesterday. He could remember riding bikes and shouting under broken fire hydrants and reading comic books in his room; laughing at his crazy friends and blushing at Helga in class and kissing under shady trees. But most of all now, he could remember romantic nights in the dark that had lead to crazily scuttling feet along floorboards and countless nights being woken up by the sound of anguished wails.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt lonely. If anything, any time alone at all was a relief, for it was short-lived. He forgot sometimes just how lucky he was. Somewhere between Zack's stupid faces, Phil's dramatic outbursts, Ham's proclamations of heart-shattering career choices, and Amanda scuttling away with every sugary item in the house, the thought had been washed over with exhaustion.

Amanda…

Wandering away from the doorway to the living room, where his three boys were all staring lazily at some action flick raging on the television, he quietly made his way up the staircase. Mindful of the slight creak in the door, he cracked it open just a slight bit to look inside.

The night-light she'd insisted she didn't need was plugged in beside her bed, and Arnold hid a smile just in case she was awake. But she didn't stir, and he managed to squint his eyes enough to see that her eyes were closed. His smile widening slightly, he shut the door with a soft click and wandered back down the stairs.

He'd just wanted to tell her she could go along with Elli after all. Not all the days, but he figured three times a week was a bit cruel. They were just kids, after all. There was nothing wrong with taking things slow. With how adamant she'd been about how rude and mean Chris was, it was probably for the best. He didn't want to give up his little girl that quickly anyway. Not for a long time.

Oh well. They wouldn't be starting tutoring until Wednesday anyway. He could always tell her later.

* * *

><p>Amanda chatted with Elli in the halls of the school before class, retelling the horrific events of the other night. It was already halfway through the school day, but Chris had yet to show. It was a serious relief to her system but that didn't change the dreadful things that had already come to pass.<p>

"Elli," she squeaked in mortification, "they're making me tutor him. He was _in my house_. He completely intruded and broke plates and yelled at my mom and dad, and, and they're making me tutor him. Can you believe it? I'm still in shock."

Elli blinked at her, her normally relaxed face twisted in surprised bafflement. She looked uncomfortable. "That… is a bit much…"

Something snapped in the air, the atmosphere crashing around them like a million pieces of flesh-tearing glass. Amanda's head slowly twisted around to stare at her, her face stiff, before she suddenly had Elli up by her collar and was nose to nose to her best friend. She gripped her collar tight enough to cut off her air supply—she didn't need it, though, she'd long stopped breathing. Amanda's voice came out as an incredulous squeak, "_You think I don't know that?_ A bit, a bit much, it's… it's _barbaric_!"

"That's a big word." Elli winced, cowering a bit under her intense graying stare.

Her pigtails were sagging again, her giant pink bow seeming almost ominous now as it sat droopingly atop her head, the cheery color coming in teeth-chattering contrast to the raging despair on her best friend's face.

"For an entire hour," she whispered gravely, as if it were a death sentence, her grip loosening as her eyes went hazy. Organ music practically blared in the background.

Elli blinked in surprise, her hands coming up to her shoulders as she swayed. "'manda, are you okay? Snap out of it. It's not that bad."

Amanda laughed almost maniacally, her eyes wide and focused on the ceiling. "Not that bad, not that bad." She snapped her head down, sanity crashing back as she clenched her teeth, the jellybeans of her eyes melting into an ashy steel. "It's the worst thing that's ever happened to me!"

"Amanda," Elli said calmly, reaching up to tighten the ties of her pigtails back to their usual perk, "I know that Chris is a pain, but I think you're overreacting. It's only an hour, and you're only helping. You won't be alone with him."

"My dad'll try," Amanda despaired.

Elli went to work on the other pigtail. "Even so, you know Chris will make a fuss sooner or later. You can use that as an excuse to wait outside or write in your notebook."

"Hmmm," Amanda mulled this over, her eyes flicking to the side. "Well, that's true. Can always count on him to say something awful." Her eyes fell halfway just at the thought of how true that was.

"Right?" Elli smiled her gentle smile, vainly attempting to make her bow not so droopy. It was no use in the end, though—the bow was too big, and Amanda's head was too small. It fell no matter what she did. Sighing to herself, she dropped her hands. "I'm not saying it will be easy, but I don't think it will be bad either. You just have to make the best of it. Look on the bright side, remember?"

"That only works when there's a bright side to look at," Amanda grumbled glumly.

"Don't be like that." She frowned. "Now smile already, you look weird and people are starting to stare."

Looking around herself, Amanda realized she was right. People were looking at her funny. Looking back at Elli, she drew out a breath, letting her shoulders fall in rhythm with it, before she grinned her biggest and widest. "Happy?"

Elli stared at her, suddenly astonished. "'manda…"

Amanda blinked, trying to keep the monster grin up even though her cheeks were starting to hurt a little. "What? If I grin any bigger my face will break."

"Huh? Oh, no, Amanda, it's not that, it's just…" She deftly held a finger up to her teeth, her eyes large and fascinated. "That."

"That?" Amanda's grin dropped, her eyes suddenly flaring with panic. "I don't have a cavity do I? Or do I just have something stuck in my teeth?" She reached a hand up to touch around at her mouth in concern, when suddenly something popped out into her hand. She froze.

Elli stared at it as well, her mouth hanging open. "I… I think your face already broke."

Amanda stared at the tiny item in her hand, her tongue running along her gum line to feel where the tooth was gone. The coppery taste of blood came sharply on her tongue but she didn't react. For a second, Elli thought she was going to lose it again—she'd lose it a little too if a piece of her face suddenly chipped off and fell to the floor. Things that were _attached_ couldn't just fall off like hair-clips. She must have been a lot more stressed out than she thought.

The sound of an ear-piercing scream nearly shattered her eardrums as Amanda suddenly started squealing and jumping up and down. "I lost my first tooth! I lost my first tooth!"

"Your _first_?" Elli gawked. "There's going to be more? Amanda, really, you don't have to freak out this much. The Chris thing—"

"Oh, forget Chris!" She waved him off like bad lunchmeat, holding the tooth to her chest as if it were the world's most precious jewel. Her smile was big and genuine now as she spun around on her foot, before she suddenly jumped forward and engulfed Elli in a big hug. "Elli, it's my first tooth!" All that gnashing her teeth over Chris' visit must have paid off. There really was a bright side.

"Amanda…" Elli shifted uncomfortably. "Why do you keep saying that?"

Amanda pulled back, grinning big and showing off the obnoxious gap that was suddenly in her teeth. "It's perfectly natural, Ell. You don't know?"

Elli stared at her bug-eyed. "Don't know?"

Amanda stared at her a moment in surprise, before she burst into giggles. Holding the tooth up to the light, she explained, positively gleaming and looking very much like her usual self now, "Teeth fall out. These aren't our permanent teeth. They're just here for when we're kids. Haven't you ever wondered why grown ups' teeth were so much bigger?"

Elli blinked, her eyes still large. "I always thought they just grew—"

Amanda giggled, shaking her head. "Teeth can't grow. I know it's weird, but apparently it's normal. Your teeth gradually start to fall out, and in their places better teeth grow."

Elli stared at her, before her lips slowly formed her words back, as if trying to sound them out in hopes of understanding dawning on her, "They fall out gradually?"

Amanda beamed, nodding her head.

"But… But why don't they just fall out all at once? Just to get it over with?" Dinner tonight was no doubt going to be spent with a lot of awkward questions, '_What else falls out_?' being probably the most concerning.

Amanda giggled gleefully at the silly statement, feeling all the more endeared to her gentle friend. "Because then we wouldn't have anything to eat with while the new teeth grew! We'd be stuck with apple sauce and pudding."

"What's wrong with that?" Elli stared at her blankly, much calmer than before.

Amanda shook her head, feeling the tooth all the bigger in her hand now as she looked down at it. Her grin grew as she declared, "I've got to tell Daddy!" She started to turn around to do just that, no doubt skipping a foot off the ground the entire way, when she was suddenly smashed up against something mid-turn. "Ow!"

She stumbled back, rubbing her sore face with her free hand. "I'm sorry, that was—"

"Pig."

Her eyes snapped open to see Chris standing there, brown eyes even nastier than usual and a deep frown carving his face to the point she thought it was going to split in half.

She couldn't move

"_What_?" he hissed, practically shaking with… something.

The bell rang, but Amanda didn't move. She just stared at him, a statue stuck to the floor. As all the kids went running to their respective classrooms, Elli looked around herself in worry. Taking quiet steps over to put a hand on Amanda's shoulder, she said, "Amanda, class is starting. Your dad's waiting."

Amanda blinked slowly. It was a small thing, but it was enough for Elli to know she was well enough to walk. She grabbed hold of her arm and started pulling her in the direction of the classroom, away from Chris' petrifying stare and bared teeth. Elli guessed that when his teeth started falling out, wolf's fangs would grow in place. The thought made her purse her lips and she pulled Amanda all the more determined.

Soon enough, Amanda managed to blink herself back from the underworld she'd found herself in and gulped, turning around to walk with her friend. When Elli noticed she was walking with her, she smiled and let go of her arm. Amanda smiled her thanks.

That is until, Chris called out, "Have fun listening to Daddy Dearest drone on about nonsense, Piggy Pig! I hope that massive nose he likes to stick in everyone's business falls off!"

It was so small. It was hardly any different from any of his other attacks. But it struck a cord. No, it didn't strike one. It snapped one like a guitar string and caused a mind-numbing zing to echo off of the halls. She heard it quite clearly in her ears. It was the loudest thing she'd ever heard.

She didn't even feel herself turn around. "That… is… _it_!" The sound of her screech reverberated throughout the entire school but it crashed like waves against her ears and caused things long buried to bubble up like acid.

She had him by his shirt, was pushing him to the floor and towering over him like a skyscraper. He stared up at her in such horror. She hardly registered it past the red in her eyes. "You are going to shut up," her voice was nothing more than a seething whisper, the sound of white heat forcing through teeth. "Criminy, why won't you ever behave? What changed in you? Why are you so horrible? We used to be _friends_!"

"Amanda…" he whispered, shuddering on the floor.

"Is that my name?" she asked acidly, her feet apart and fists clenched so hard her fingers were turning white. "Since when is my name Amanda? I thought it was pig. Wasn't that right? _Christian_…"

His eyelids twitched and he looked like he wanted to scream something back but he couldn't.

"Listen, delinquent," she grabbed him up by his collar and bared her teeth in a growl, a million times more terrifying a look on her than it had ever been on him, "I'm done. If I'm going to tutor you for the next few weeks, you are going to _zip it_. No more name calling, no more torture, and no more pretending you _don't care_ 'cause I know you do. My name is _Amanda F. Shortman_. Get it right! I am not going to get stuck with you for the rest of my life with you acting like this! I don't deserve this kind of pain day in and day out!"

"The rest of your life?" he echoed like he was in a dream.

Amanda's eyes widened for a split second before she growled, "The next few weeks, the rest of school, you get it! A really long time! But the point is, I'm not putting up with you anymore! _Be a good person already, geekbait_!" And with that, she grabbed him by the back of his collar and proceeded to drag him to class with her, her feet stomping down the hall like she was a stormcloud. Elli stared in shock as she dragged the dazed and strangely euphoric Chris with her, before she disappeared around the corner.

Amanda Faith Shortman was like the sun at P.S. 118. She made perfect grades and had the loveliest personality, and was very rarely caught without a smile. There was very little wrong with her, some might say. Some might even claim she was an angel. But no one on this earth is perfect.

Amanda Faith had the nastiest temper, and that combined with the resolve of a bull and morals even more strictly adhered to than her own father, was Armageddon in the making. Any sort of wrongdoing was enough to set her off. It was perhaps her biggest fault and often ended in walls crumbling and cities setting aflame.

As far as Chris was concerned, he was the world's biggest screw up. He broke twenty rules before breakfast and acted as if it was nothing. Amanda would never understand the change in his demeanor, considering they'd been friends in kindergarten, but all she knew was that she despised it. She had to resist ripping him to shreds on a daily basis, and it often drained her of her energy. He would never understand just how much he frustrated her.

Especially since she could remember quite clearly what her bedtime stories as a small child had been of. Of a nasty bully that tormented the boy she adored for attention, until one day he found out and fell in love with her in return and they got married. She remembered her father telling her he was that boy, and she remembered falling asleep with a smile on her face. She remembered her great-grandparents telling her a similar story, and how it was shaping out to be a destiny kind of thing. She'd had no idea she'd learn to dread that at the time.

If there was any chance that she could get around it, she would. She would scour the entire galaxy for a loophole if she had to. Chris wasn't like her mother was. Her mother was funny and playful, he was just mean and stupid. He never tried, he was completely unmotivated in everything he did, and he knew how to hotwire a car. No good could come from that. It simply wasn't the same concept. Besides, wasn't she the one that was supposed to fall and pick on him? Not the other way around?

In any case, she was done with it. No more getting picked on, and no more acting the bully. He would be a good person from now on, she would make sure of that. He didn't have to be perfect, she liked him just the way he—… He didn't have to be perfect. But he did at least have to stop with the remarks.

Of course, who knew how long her ill-timed fury would last?

He'd be back to himself as soon as the month was up.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well… that was a long-winded way of making one point. I guess that's essentially all any book is huh? Blah. Points to anyone who can guess who Chris' dad is! Fo' serious, I will give you a cookie. A virtual cookie but a cookie nonetheless. Hint: he's from the show. LOL

_So_ then, Arnold takes a forty minute to an hour drive to home from getting out of school at 3, dinner is already ready when they get there at around 4, and after a half-hour to hour long dinner session it is now Amanda's bedtime. Hmmmm… Seems legit.

Seriously, I'm going to say they just had dinner a little early because Helga wanted to get him in and out as soon as possible. Then I'm gonna say that dinner ran a bit long (because with this family, everything takes longer than it should), then they all sat around watching TV and being a-holes for a couple hours and lost track of time, and that Arnold was long taking Chris home when Helga went up to talk to Amanda because Chris just lives so stinking far away (because I can, I'm freaking SuprSingr, the flying donkey from Saturn). So that leaves Amanda's bedtime around, ehhh, eight-ish. Mwahaha, I am a master at cheating around details. Screw you, Writing, I'll violently manipulate you all I want.

There are other flaws with this but I'm not going to point them out. Shhhh… *Shifty eyes*

The next chapter is going to be super Zack-centric, with all sorts of new OCs introduced and a few characters you already know! ;D As I said before, these chapters are titled "Shortman Secrets." REVEAL ALL DA SECRETS. Mwahahaha! Hopefully none of them find out I blabbed because then I'm dead. :P BUT IT WILL BE WORTH IT }:D

**_REVIEW!_**

If you _please_, cobbler and cheese


	8. Looking Up: Part 1

**A/N: **"His ego is just as big as his brow." –**Panfla**

XD I swear to you, a more perfect statement has never been spoken. This is so utterly and completely dedicated to you, Panfla! :D I just hope you realize that, in case it wasn't ridiculously obvious. XDDD Some parts here were inspired by stuff she told me when we were talking, and one scene at the end of ALL THIS (like at the end of the… pfft, 5th or 6th part? XDDD) was her idea all together to do, and I just couldn't help myself. xDD I'll point it out when it comes!

In order of who reviewed first, and so on and so forth:

**~Beautiful People~**

Gloria Spark

metalheadrailfan

NerdilyNi

writergirl97

Nep2une

acosta perez jose ramiro

Narcisa Le Fay

braygirl

littlelionalex

Isabella Pataki

Daichilover

Panfla

starrynights1987

Miss Eauxtis**  
><strong>

Welcome to Zack-centric land, fools, where all your dreams may come true… but probably won't, 'cause screw you this is my fic. }:D

Zack: **)**:D

XDDD Okay, seriously, just, just read! *Slams door laughing*

**Disclaimer:** *Sings* I own it aaaaaall~! Except the characters that I dooooon't! Which sucks but I'll live with it anyway 'cause I have no chooooiiiiice! Oh, and the lovely Pamella belongs to **Panfla, **I just helped flesh her. :D xD Taro Johansen belongs to **metalheadrailfan**, and he has an awesome picture up on Deviant if you want to see him. :D The dude is awesome. XD And mention of super special Kori Johansen is purely because of **xxP00h67chu**, because she created her, and she also has some pictures up. XD Thanks for letting me fudge off of you guys! XD You're all geniuses! …Evil geniuses… *Pops eyeball out and places it on you*

OH, BTW—Popeye doesn't belong to me either… I put a reference in, LOL, it's pretty obvious if you look for it. If you catch it, tell me~! ;D *Toot toot*

* * *

><p><strong>Looking Up<strong>

**Part 1  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Dad, can I ask you a question?"<p>

Arnold blinked, hearing his eldest son's inquiry coming from the back seat of his car. He shifted his eyes momentarily off the road to the mirror so he could look at his son with a small, reassuring smile. "Of course, Zack. You can ask me anything, anytime."

The nine-year-old Zack grinned back at him in the mirror, a small hint of nervousness in his gaze that Arnold didn't quite catch. "Well…" his bright blue eyes shifted away a moment, suddenly coated with frustration, "why does my last name have to be Shortman?"

Arnold blinked his eyes wide at the odd question. "Um…" he began unsurely, focusing his perplexed eyes back on the road. "Well, because that's my last name, so… That just makes you a Shortman too, since you're my son. That's just… how it works." He shifted his eyes back to his son's in the mirror, asking with a tint of concern in his voice, "Why? Is something wrong with the name?"

"Is something wrong with the—Of course there's something wrong with it!" Zack exploded from his seat suddenly, staring at his dad with crazed, skeptical eyes. "What kind of a question is that?"

Arnold blinked a couple times at his son's strange behavior, raising an eyebrow. He tried to be patient as he asked calmly, "What do you mean, Zack?"

Zack let out an exasperated sigh and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Mom was right… You _are_ dense."

Arnold blinked a few times at that in rapid succession, shocked that his wife would mention an insult like that to their son. A moment later he humphed, and his freshly stoic eyes focused back on the gleaming road before them, the rain drizzling down in gentle patterns on the windshield. "Yes, Zachary, I'm dense as a brick. Now that we've got that covered—enlighten me. Why is the name Shortman so terrible?" his voice came flatly, yet still he tried to be as civil as possible with his son despite how he tended to test his patience.

With one final sigh, Zack rolled his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and replied quietly with a touch of bitterness, a reluctance there that caused him to space out his wording, "Well… some of the kids… joke around with me sometimes for being… short."

Arnold blinked, twisting his face in bewilderment. "But you're not short. You're right at the average height for a boy your age."

Zack harrumphed, his tone hardening as he elaborated, "Yes, I know, _Arnold_. But while I may not technically be short, I am a Short_man_…" He raised one side of his eyebrow sharply. "Get the picture?" He sighed then, his eyes snapping out the window to forlornly watch the raindrops race against the glass. "They're always calling me Short Man…" he grumbled.

Arnold didn't respond for a few moments, simply stared at the road with what seemed like an almost somber expression, before he burst into laughter. "Oh, Zack…" He struggled to get his chuckling under control, vainly attempting to cover up the slip with a few coughs. "That's ridiculous."

"Oh, come on. Surely you were mocked when you were my age. I've seen pictures of you, Dad…" his wide eyes suddenly cut themselves in half, and he leaned forward slightly in his seat, his voice lowering, "…and you really were _short_…"

Despite himself, Arnold's entire face flushed, contradictory to how his grin grew. "No, actually. I was never really made fun of."

"Really?" Zack asked in his disbelieving, low tone, one side of his eyebrow still extended up, his arms still crossed, and his eyes still reluctant to come out of their slits. Some suspicion crept into his tone as he added, "Are you sure about that one, Pops?"

Arnold laughed a little guiltily under his son's searching gaze, and he admitted, "Okay, so maybe I was made fun of a little… or a lot. But it was only from one person."

"Who?" Zack asked curiously, his eyes returning to normal now, being able to tell that his father was telling the truth this time.

Arnold didn't answer for a few moments, before his mouth quirked a little to one side, and he chuckled a little at the irony. "Your mother."

Zack blinked at that, his eyes actually widening a bit, before he suddenly burst into laughter. He didn't bother to cover up his amusement like his father, though, and nearly fell over on the car seat. "That's _awesome_!"

Arnold just rolled his eyes in amusement, before his eyes focused themselves back on the road ahead of them. "Yeah, yeah. Helga loved teasing me about that one when she finally found out."

Zack's laughter instantly ceased at hearing this, and he raised one side of his brow once more, that slitted look starting to return to his face. It made Arnold look away from the mirror, opting to keep his eyes focused on the road completely, even though their car was the only one on the road. Zack leaned forward in his seat to look at his dad again, and Arnold sighed as his son asked the inevitable question, "What do you mean _finally found out_?"

Arnold sighed and looked away, deciding to just get it over with. "Well, I'm not sure why, but for the first nine years of my life, no one knew what my last name was."

Zack's eyes widened and his jaw dropped a little. "_No one_?"

Arnold shook his head, shrugging his shoulders up. "It wasn't like it was a secret or anything. My grandpa was always calling me it as a kind of joke because, yeah, I was short." He rolled his eyes a little, smiling. "But for some reason, no one ever registered it I guess."

Zack looked amused suddenly. "Not even Mom?"

Arnold chuckled, shaking his head as an affirmative no.

Zack sat back in his seat, an amused look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest again. "Wow, and here all these years she's been giving _you_ a hard time for being dense."

Arnold's expression stilled at that. After a few more moments of tenseness, he burst into boisterous laughter, gripping his steering wheel harder just to keep himself from not just falling straight away sideways and into the rest of the seat. It was the most hilarious idea he'd ever heard. Leave it to her son to figure that one out. "Oh, Zack!" He was laughing so hard now that he was practically vibrating in his seat, and he put a hand over his mouth to try to gain back at least a bit of his composure.

Zack couldn't help the smug smile that spread across his face, pride rushing through him.

Finally after several more seconds, Arnold managed to force down his amusement well enough and wipe some tears from his eyes. "Helga… the Horrible Hypocrite." He chortled. "Wow, I'd never thought of that before, but it's true! That was dense of her." Some of his more characteristic understanding and sense came back to him then, and he shook his head a little. "But then again, nobody else ever got the connection either, so maybe it isn't exactly fair to pin all this on Helga. If no one got that was why my grandpa called me that, then maybe it wasn't as obvious as it always seemed to me—"

"Dad, you're not seriously going to rank Mom's intelligence down with those monkeys you used to call classmates are you?"

Arnold's expression became firm and fatherly in an instant and he slowed the car down a little so he could glance back at his son with a look. A warning. "Zack, that's not nice…"

Zack smirked slightly, the smallest upturn of his lips, but a whisper of what it once would be. "I never claimed to be nice, Father… And stop looking at me like that. You can't intimidate me. You're not scary in the least." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Trust me, I know scary."

A slightly angry rush of air flew from his father's nostrils, and he turned back around, continuing to drive. "Perhaps not, but as your dad, I do have the ability to ground you."

Zack rolled his eyes, his gangly, boyish form sliding down in the seat. "Like I have anywhere to go."

"Video games…"

"Never play them."

"Cell phone…"

"If I don't have anywhere to go, then I'm pretty sure it's safe to assume that I also have no one to _call_, Dad."

"Computer."

"Have you ever seen me even try to use that thing once?"

Arnold huffed, thoroughly frustrated now as he braced his shoulders. "Well, then what do you do all day if you have nowhere to go, no one to call, and nothing to do?"

Zack shrugged slightly, a mere roll up and down of his shoulders that was barely there. His eyes focused disinterestedly on a speck of dirt on the floor, keeping a close eye on it. "Mostly read…" His eyes darkened, his arms crossed tighter. "It's not like I have anything better to do anyway."

Arnold's eyes widened, his annoyances vanishing in an instant. He twisted his head around to look at him, concern creasing every wrinkle on his face. "Zack, did something happen?"

Zack snapped a look at him, a bit startled at the question, before he glanced away and shrugged with careless shoulders. "No, nothing at all. School's been fine."

Arnold hummed at that in feigned understanding and turned back around in his seat, his knuckles turning paler against the steering wheel. He hadn't specifically asked about how school was, he knew his son was hiding something. He didn't press it, though. Zack would come to him when he was ready. Of that he was sure. For now, Arnold just continued to drive, knowing a talk with his wife was in order about this whole 'monkey classmates' situation.

But despite the assurances Arnold pressed into his mind, Zack never spoke a word of it again.

* * *

><p>"Zachary!"<p>

Zack's head snapped up from his desk, gasping for air. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

The gray-haired high school teacher tapped her foot at him, her green eyes narrowed slightly. "Zachary Shortman, sleeping in class _again_?"

Zack grinned blearily up at the teacher, his arm reaching up to wipe the bit of drool that had formed at the corner of his lip. "Not sleeping, I just passed out. The lesson was so informative and interesting, I guess I just got overwhelmed."

Ms. Idleberry sighed down at him, disappointment written clear across her aged face. She tapped him on the chin with her pointer, leaning her head down to him. "_Pay attention_, if you please." She pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper from the stack in her hand and placed it down on his desk as she whispered, careful to make sure only he could hear her words, "If you weren't my best student I'd be much more concerned." She winked, a mere blink of her eye that lasted barely a second before she stood back up and went on down the line of desks to hand out the rest of the papers.

Zack's shoulders were stiff as he stared down at the piece of paper lying in glaring white and blue on his desk, the crisp, jagged edges almost screaming to make his hands bleed. He swallowed throatily, before he reached as casually as possible to look under the paper, making sure he picked it up in a way that no one else could see, and was almost disappointed to see the A+ written so cheerily at the top in red ink. His breath left him in a silent rush before he folded it up as tiny as it could go and stuffed it into his plaid shirt. His shoulders shook a moment before his head slammed down onto the desk, startling everyone around him.

"Crap…" he mouthed into the desk, closing his eyes in defeat.

"Bad grade I take it?"

His head snapped up. Blinking slowly, he turned his head incredulously to see who was talking to him.

It was a girl. Her hair was twisted up into a thick ponytail with messy tendrils hanging in front of her face, but a few of which hung casually over eyes of bright green that were gazing at him in a way he thought to be rather disinterested. A small white stick stuck out of her mouth and twitched erratically, the end of a lollypop, he realized. Or probably would have realized had his eyes not been glued to the glinting red of her dark hair.

After only a few seconds more, he whipped around in his seat and crossed his arms. "None of your business, Ginger."

There was something of a strangled gasp behind him, like something out of a horror movie, before his head was suddenly yanked back by his hair and he was forced to stare upside down at her offended expression. "Got a problem with redheads, Monobrow?"

Air hissed out between his teeth as he managed to wretch his head out of her hands, and he rubbed the spot angrily as he turned around to glare at her. "_The hell_?"

"Zack!" the teacher snapped from across the room, sending him a sharp look. "We don't use words like that in here!"

Zack bit back a growl, forcing his hand away from the sore spot on his head. "Sorry, ma'am, I just got…" he sneered slightly, "surprised."

"Well save the horseplay for afterwards. We've still got twenty minutes worth of class to get through." She turned back around then and continued handing out papers, almost at the end of the line by this point.

Zack sighed quietly, easily slapping away the fury that had been flaring in him a moment ago. As discreetly as possible, he closed his eyes and tilted his head ever so slightly to the right to whisper back, "Look, we shouldn't be talking in class." He opened his blue eyes then, something occurring to him that made him slightly annoyed again. "Who are you anyway? I don't even know you."

The girl rolled her eyes at the question. "As if I'd tell you after—"

"Pamella! What have I told you about eating candy in class?"

The girl cringed for only a moment, before she plucked the apple pop from her mouth and grinned sheepishly at the teacher. "Sorry."

As Ms. Idleberry rolled her eyes and went back to handing out papers, the girl, now known as Pamella, turned back around to see Zack giving her a broad, knowing smirk with his eyes smugly lidded halfway. The irritating sight immediately had her cutting her eyes, and she reached forward to stick her lollypop to his cheek.

He made a horrified face and, with a sharp flick of his wrist, swiped the candy from his cheek and onto the floor. It clacked and clattered against the ground while Zack was busy wiping his cheek aggressively with the sleeve of his plaid shirt. He looked at her in pure disgust, appalled. "I can't believe you did that."

Pamella just smirked. "Shouldn't have been so smug," she whispered, tilting her chin up slightly. She leaned forward on her forearms then, her eyes wide. "Now about that grade—"

Zack rolled his eyes full circle in disbelief and turned back around for a final time, intent on ignoring her until she disappeared to someplace far away from him. He'd make note to never sit anywhere near her again.

"All righty, class," Ms. Idleberry said as she made it to the front of the room again, her hands now clear of papers, "now that that's sorted, let's get on with the lesson."

* * *

><p>The bell was screaming for everyone to get out, and Zack was out of his seat and out the door before anyone else could blink.<p>

"Zack, wait!" Ms. Idleberry yelled after him, frustrated with his quick departure, "I wanted to talk to you about possibly entering in the—"

"The answer's no!" he yelled back in a rush of panic, his long legs running ever faster, desperate to get as far away from that class as possible. As far as he knew or wanted to know, she didn't respond.

As teenagers began filing out of their respective classrooms, Zack raced past in a blur of blue, black and yellow. He knocked into teens and bumped into giggling girls that screamed when he passed, but he paid them no more mind than a quick, "Sorry!" and "I was never here!"

As the lockers zipped past him, he nearly crashed into his girlfriend as she suddenly came into startling clarity in his sights. She screeched as she saw him running at her, and her hands flew up to cover her face as she cowered in her spot. Zack's legs stuttered and stumbled to a stop just before he crushed her, and his elbow flew up to balance himself against the lockers beside them. He grinned through panting lips, trying to be smooth despite the fact his hair was a wind-blown wreck. "Sophie… Almost didn't see you there."

The black haired beauty blinked her crystal eyes at him through her arms a second, before she let them drop away and laughed. "_Zack_, you scared the daylights out of me."

"Now I'm sure there are still plenty of daylights in you, Sophe," he flirted with a teasing grin.

She just giggled at him, slapping him lightly on the arm. "Stop. You really did scare me. Why were you running so fast?"

Zack puffed out a long-suffering breath from his mouth, his eyes going out of focus. "Ms. Idleberry tried to talk to me again is all. It's no big deal." He leaned in closer to her then, his eyelids falling. "But what is a big deal is you. I hope you know you never have to be afraid of me."

Sophie blushed, her eyes darting down in a shy fashion. "If you don't want me to be scared, you shouldn't do scary things." She flicked her light blue eyes up to his deeper ones, smiling a tiny smile. "But I guess I'm out of luck, huh?"

Zack burst out into a deep laugh, before a toothy grin broke out across his face. "'Fraid so, babe." His eyes flew down to his watch then, and he hummed before sweeping forward to peck her on the cheek. "Gotta go, Jaron's waiting for me by the water fountain."

"Okay." Her smile turned a tad disappointed, before she smiled at him more sincerely and sidled up to give him a small, innocent nuzzle. "I've gotta go too anyway. My Humanitarian class is starting soon."

Zack frowned slightly, a hand coming up to hold her around her back. Every day she skipped lunch to go to that class, the extra class _she_ suggested and started. The fact of the matter was that his girlfriend was intent on saving the world, and it stole her away from him more than he'd like. What with the concerts, benefits, and charity events of all kinds, he only ever saw her during school, and the rest of the time was mostly spent texting and staring at his phone with wide, bloodshot blue eyes. Angels were hard girlfriends to maintain, and Zack felt a little piece of his heart crack.

"Okay," he murmured, trying to smile a tad more devilishly despite how soft he felt, "I'll see you around then, I guess."

"Tomorrow, right here." She beamed her sweet face at him, and stood up on her toes to give him a small kiss on the mouth. Pulling back after a moment, she smiled the most loving smile she could before wandering off into the crowd, her skirts and black hair swaying.

Zack stared after her, his eyes wide in awe. "Bye…" As soon as she was out of sight, he allowed his shoulders to slump and his expression to fall. "Bye."

"_Wow_, how the hell did you manage to snag _that_?"

His breath rushed back to him in a sharp inhale, before he snapped around to see the girl from before looking at him incredulously, another lollypop sticking out of her mouth.

He blinked a few times, unwilling to accept that she was here. "What?"

She rolled her eyes at him, pulling the lollypop—red now—out of her mouth to give him a snarky look. "I _said_, how in the flaming pits of the underworld did you manage to snag a chick like that? No offense, but have you seen you?"

Zack did a double take at her, blinking his eyes in shock, before his face darkened. He snapped around and walked stiffly down the hall, already starting to sort his brain in order to forget that she ever made a comment like that.

"Whoa, wait up!" her hideous voice called, and he heard her footsteps pounding into the floor grow louder until she slammed into him suddenly. Shocked, he spun around and pushed her off of him, before proceeding to dust himself off.

"Can I _help_ you, Ms. Pamella?" he asked testily, his brow narrowed at her as his hand swept down his plaid-clad arm.

She scrunched her face up. "Ugh, please, my name is _Pam_."

"Okay, sure. Whatever you say, Pam Am."

"_Hey_, I hated that show—"

Zack grunted, "Me too." He turned around swiftly then and tried to walk away once more.

She wasn't having it, though, and she jumped in front of him to block his way, scowling. "Hey, what's with the attitude?"

"Ohhhh," he pretended to think, his eyes wandering away and a hand coming to his chin, "what's with the attitude, what's with the attitude… Oh, well, could it have something to do with how _you won't leave me the hell_ _alone_?" As he'd said this last sentence he'd heaved himself up to tower over her, his arms tensing and shoulders raising dramatically. His left eye twitched ever so slightly.

She stared up at him in surprise, her mouth falling open. "_Geez_, freaking sasquatch, get your head out of the ceiling, would ya? I just wanted to talk."

Zack tensed up even more for a second, before he suddenly deflated with a long sigh and looked at her through defeated eyes. "_What_?"

She grinned. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. It's just about that grade you got, I wanted to know—"

Zack's eyes bolted open and he immediately swept his arm across to make her stumble out of the way, before he marched past her through the hall, hurriedly losing her in the crowd, ducking and swerving around the slobbery, guffawing teenagers. Before long he felt safe enough to sneak out of the uncomfortable crowd and he sighed with relief. "Thank the mother—"

"Zack!" Jaron shouted to him, waving erratically.

Zack jumped at the loud shout less than two feet from him, startled. "Jaron, I'm right here. Seriously, you don't have to shout." He looked around himself nervously.

Jaron blinked his dark eyes at him, pushing some of his poofing jheri curls out of his face and back up into his semi-fro as he grinned too big at his best friend. "Sorry, dude, I've been waiting for over ten minutes now. You're late, man! Where ya been?"

Zack's blue eyes flew up to the ceiling in a cringe. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you—let's just get to lunch already, okay?"

Jaron shrugged. "Whatever works, Zack, but I'm still curious." He shot him a look through glassy eyes, the warmth in them glossed over by a thin layer of contacts that screamed comfort on the box yet had him constantly rubbing his eyes. The fact of the matter was, Jaron was a nerd—he was smart beyond his years and made exceptional grades, but he didn't want to be that geeky person that wore clunky glasses and sweater vests. Which was one of the reasons he'd started hanging out with Zack in the first place—people seemed to like Zack, Zack was popular, so if he hung out with him, maybe he could be cool too. Of course, that had been years ago and his friendship was sincere now, but he was still concerned with popularity and coolness and was willing to do most anything to achieve it. It would have worried Zack, had he not been in a similar dilemma all his life.

Zack tried to smile, tried to remember Sophie's soft touch and gentle words as they walked into the cafeteria. "I'll tell you later. Right now, I just want to stuff my face and forget."

Jaron threw his fist in the air, bowing his head low. "Amen, brother."

Zack grinned brightly, gaining back some of his usual stamina as he slapped an arm around his best friend. "Who needs therapy?" he laughed.

"Certainly not us." Jaron grinned crazily, before his head snapped away to the direction of the lunch line, which was nonexistent. A strangled gasp suddenly broke from Jaron's lips, and he scuttled out of Zack's arm to race to the front. "Holy butterbeans! No waiting!"

Zack's jaw dropped, before he managed to wake up enough from his food-induced haze to race after him as far as his legs could go, only tripping once to his credit. "Wait up!"

"_Dude_," Jaron's voice ground in straight-faced incredulity as his friend caught up with him, grabbing up a tray from the short stack and placing it down on the counter with a slam, "I said _no_ waiting! Don't you tell me to wait! I've waited long enough for you!"

"But darling," Zack bubbled up in jest, putting a hand to his chest in hurt, "I thought you told me you'd wait forever?"

Jaron rolled his eyes and grabbed up a tray to shove into Zack's hand to shut him up. "Forever was cut short, honey. You've been replaced." His eyes fell rapturously upon the tacos that lay before them in the glass, already beginning to drool. "By a saucy little Mexican lady."

"Well, I'm insulted." Zack sniffed and stood self-righteously, his tray held in one hand as he rested his hands on his waist. "You're replacing a blond-haired, blue-eyed babe like me for this? She doesn't even have lettuce."

Jaron grinned crookedly at him, and pulled his lunch bag from one shoulder to the other for him to see, patting it. "Well, lettuce correct that, shall we?"

Zack's eyes widened at the sight of the bag and he grinned, immediately grabbing it up just for the sake of holding it, making sure it was real. "Ahh, your mom packed your lunch again?"

Jaron plucked up a taco and put it on his tray as he rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Like I'd really miss taco day for one of her whole grain, veggie-filled messes she considers food."

"You think there's any sushi this time?" Zack asked, almost tempted to shake the bag to see if he could hear what was in it.

Jaron scrunched up his nose, reaching over to grab some milk. "Let's hope not. She's still perfecting her technique and it's been chaos. There's been knives flying and all sorts of screaming. I don't even want to know what's been going on in that kitchen, but Dad looked pretty terrorized at dinner a few nights ago."

Zack cackled at the news, letting go of the bag in favor of holding his stomach as laughter racketed his body. "Oh, criminy, seriously? That is beautiful. Sometimes I think your family's crazier than mine—"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Jaron laughed, paying for his food to the less than amused lunch lady. "Now hurry up, I want to get to work on wooing my new lady."

Zack grumbled, grabbing a taco and some chocolate milk quick along with some tapioca pudding and throwing it onto his tray with purposeful aggression. "She's had work done!" he yelled in mock-jealousy as Jaron skipped off to their table, before turning back to the lunch lady with a booming grin. "He'll be crawling back to me before the day is up."

The lunch lady blinked listlessly at him, her face sagging. "That'll be $3.46."

* * *

><p>A pair of hands slammed down on the table, red sleeves exploding down her arms.<p>

Zack and Jaron jumped in their seats and their eyes darted up from their lunches to see a pale-faced redhead who looked thoroughly irritated by this point, what with her teeth gritted and right eye twitching.

A squeak burst from Zack's throat before he could help it and he flew down under the table.

"Like _hell_," she hissed, ducking under to grab him by one of his legs and drag him out. "I have been looking all over for you for the past _hour_, and here all this time you've been eating? You've got some serious nerve!"

Zack kicked his leg out of her hands, and shot backwards from her in horror, only to bang the back of his head against the table. An anguished moan ripped from his throat as he ducked his head down, his hands trying to massage away the pain. After a moment or two, he snapped his head up and glared at her. "For the love of—It's lunch time! What else would I be doing?"

"Something… Something… I don't know!" She threw her hands up, just wanting to get her anger out. "Something less obvious! How cliché can you be?"

Jaron gulped his food down, and took a quick swig of his milk before he pushed his tray away and put a hand up in a stopping gesture. "Okay, seriously. What loop am I out of this time? I haven't seen you around before." He looked the random girl up and down, from her red hoodie to the nearly black, gray fibers of her rolled up jeans, and finally to her plain white sneakers. She didn't look like someone that would try to bash someone's head in.

"Name's Pam, and I asked Zack here a question," she waved him off easily, her eyes still cut at Zack, "that he won't answer!"

Zack flew up from the ground and glared at her, simply. "I did answer. I told you it was none of your business."

Pam blinked slowly, as if she had to process these words, before she suddenly grinned at him and leaned forward into his face. "That's not an answer, that's a denial at an answer, which I reject. It was a valid question—what's the big deal? Just tell me."

Zack stared down at her a second, before taking a purposeful step back, his behind bumping into the table. He pursed his lips hard and ducked his head down so his messy hair hung in front of his face. His left arm trembled slightly.

Jaron looked thoroughly enthused in the scene, and he leaned around Zack's slumped form to look at Pam. "What grade?"

That broke him. Zack snapped around to slam his fists down on the table, making their food fly up for a second before clattering back onto the table. Jaron flew back from the table, nearly falling over in his chair. Zack yelled, "No grade! There was no grade! There is nothing to answer because I didn't _get_ a grade!" He snapped back around then and took bounding steps towards Pam, causing her to practically run backwards to keep from him plowing her over. He stopped then and pointed a finger in her face, his expression firm. "Do you hear me? This entire thing didn't ever happen! You're going to wake up soon, and when you do, none of this will have ever happened! _Get the picture_?"

Pam looked up at him in shock, her hand clutching onto something. He realized half a second later that it was the red lollypop from before. His face soured at seeing it. Pam suddenly spoke up then, the beginning's of a smile pulling at her mouth, "You're a terrible liar."

Zack's entire face went utterly blank.

Jaron bursting into laughter behind him woke him up and air flew in through his nose as his chest puffed out slightly. "A terrible—I'm the best liar this school has ever seen! I'm incredible at making up stories, detailed and precise and thoroughly backed up with fake information! I don't even have to _think_ about it! I've fooled my own mother!" He put his hands on his hips then and leaned down to look furiously at her. "And believe me, if you knew my mom, you'd be bowing at my feet right now for accomplishing a feat like _that_."

Pam laughed, looking overjoyed at his irritation. "Yes, you would be good at making up stories wouldn't you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" he screeched in an enraged whisper, leaning over her even further.

Pam huffed at him towering over her like that again, and she flew up on her tiptoes to point her lollypop at him, her eyes narrowing. He had to pull back from her when she put the lollypop near his face, annoyed. "Hey now, I'm warning you, Brow—don't mess with me!"

Zack's eyes widened and his lungs cleared.

_Hey there, Brow, how's my little shortie today? Have you had a nice day so far? I haven't._

"Zack? Hey, Zack, are you okay? Come on, don't zone out on us now. Zack!"

He shook himself and his eyes came back into focus, seeing Jaron standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face. He blinked a couple times, a hand coming up to his head. "I'm sorry… Did I miss anything?"

A dark-haired girl suddenly popped out from behind Jaron, smiling the same irritating grin from before. "Nothing we can't make up for."

Zack's face darkened. "You're so lucky I'm not violent."

The bell wailed.

In a flash Zack was grabbing up their trays from the table and throwing Jaron's lunch bag over his head. It seemed like mere seconds had passed when Zack grabbed Jaron's arm and was physically dragging him out the door. Jaron stumbled as Zack flew blindly out of the room, leaving Pam gaping with lollypop in hand.

They didn't cross paths for the rest of the day, something Zack was infinitely grateful for.

* * *

><p>Phil yelped when Zack came barreling into the cramped space of the car, pushing him straight into Ham, who had his entire side pushed up against the window. Zack adjusted his legs so they could fit more comfortably and stuck his tongue out in concentration. He closed the door with a slam behind him, throwing his backpack into the front seat.<p>

"Ya comfortable yet, Zacko?" Helga asked from the front seat, twisting around slightly to look at him.

Zack grinned at her. "Never been more."

"Well I'm not!" Phil whined, trying to push himself away from Ham, only to practically fall into Zack's lap.

Helga scoffed and turned back around to put the car into ignition, her hands flying to turn the wheel around so they could get the hell out of here. "Tough! If you hadn't gotten yourself suspended from P.S. 118 we wouldn't have had to put you in P.S. 119 in the first place! You could have been riding home with plenty of space to spare with Amanda and Arnold!"

Phil suddenly bolted up straight in his seat and looked at her dryly through the mirror, pointing his thumbs at his brothers on either side of himself. "Oh, in that case, I'll happily ride home with these meat heads. Anything to get away from Amanda."

"Awww," Zack gushed, pulling him into an awkward side hug, "he _does_ love us!"

Phil screeched, his arms flailing. "Get your filthy hands off of me!"

He accidentally whacked Ham in the head and his shoulders tensed up for a mere second before he snapped, "Hey now, Wrestlemania isn't supposed to start until eight! Cool it!"

"Barbarians," Phil ground out, finally managing to wrench Zack's arms from around his neck, "all of you!"

"All right, all right, guys," Helga's commanding voice boomed, and her head snapped around to send them a fiery look that set them immediately on edge, "if I hear another peep for the next five minutes, I don't care how old you are, I _will_ spank you! It's getting dark thanks to those damned rain clouds, who knows _when_ it will start raining, and I need to focus on driving! So _clam up_!"

Everyone's faces suddenly went ash white and Zack flew forward to grab her head and force it back around to the road. "Mom, we're not in England!"

Helga screamed as she saw the semi-truck coming straight at them, and her white hands jerked the steering wheel out of the way just as it's monster horn blared at them. The car swerved left from right for a few seconds before it started going straight again, the semi-truck's horn still blaring as it passed them.

The car was deadly silent for a long time, everyone frozen in their spots and their faces drained of color. After a few tentative finger movements, Helga said threateningly, not turning around, "_Not a word_…"

They all nodded their heads vigorously, their lips shut tight.

* * *

><p>"GAH, would you get your fat foot out of my face?"<p>

"Get your fat face out of my foot—"

"Your face is fat!"

"_Both of your faces are fat_!"

"Criminy, Ham, you have no room to talk! Your face is huge!"

"And yet you still have a bigger mouth than me. I'm missing the silence already."

"Me too!"

"I'm not! This is fun!"

"Hey, hey, hey, shut your pie holes!" Helga yelled, turning the car off so she was free to turn around and glare at them all.

All eyes snapped to her, and Zack yelped as he suddenly fell out of the car where he'd had the door open. He fell backwards into the concrete of the driveway, dizzy with his legs still hanging in the car seat.

The sound of Phil and Ham bursting into laughter entered his ears, but he was too busy noticing how puffy the clouds looked and wondering how there could be stars out when it was only around 3:30. He blinked and his head fell down fully to the ground, his eyes going straight up from his position to see a moving truck across the way. "Huh," he mumbled absentmindedly.

A black sneaker suddenly pounded down beside his head, making him tense. Phil grinned evilly down at him, his feet on either side of his head and his hands on his hips. "You know, you are completely at my mercy right now, Zack? I could do whatever I wanted. I could get you back for a lifetime's worth of horrible jokes and bad puns. The question is…" he put a hand to his chin, eyes wandering away in mock, "what to do? Should I go with plan A or just head straight for plan H? An opportunity like this may not come up again."

Zack looked up at him with disinterest for a second before a sinful grin split his face and he kicked his feet up, knocking Phil in the back and making him fly forward straight into the grass. Phil made a loud "Oof!" as his face skidded across the green, before his muscles gave out and he made a small pathetic moan into the dirt.

Zack stood up, dusting himself with his grin still in place. "Foolish, Philly. Just foolish."

Ham, having observed this scene, just sighed and unbuckled his seat belt to get out of the car.

"Zack," Helga addressed him, before throwing his blue backpack at him. She reached in across the seat then to pull out the last two bags and threw one to Ham standing at the other side of the car, before looking over at Phil still laying in the grass with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't help the small smirk that crossed her face as she walked over to stand over him, the backpack hanging from one hand while her other hand rested on her hip. "You okay down there, kiddo?"

He just grunted.

Her smirk only widened as she threw the bag down less than an inch from his head, making him jerk. "I'm gonna have to take that as a yes. Arnold should be home in about half an hour, so we're running on a tight schedule."

"Tight schedule for what?" Ham asked, walking up to stand beside an equally curious Zack as he adjusted his backpack over his shoulder.

"It's Taro's birthday," Helga informed them in slight surprise, raising an eyebrow at them. "You didn't know? I'd have thought Jaron would have told you."

Zack snorted before the last word could even leave her mouth, a smirk spreading across his face in amusement. "Jaron hates Taro. I'm not surprised."

"Mom, I don't have a present for him," Ham said in concern, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh, _who cares_?" Phil moaned, rolling over onto his back so his empty eyes could gaze up at the darkening sky. "Life is meaningless anyway. Material gifts are a waste of time, we all just die and leave it all behind. We might as well just give him the dirt beneath our feet… and up my nose." He scowled.

"Ohhh," Zack rolled his eyes, and strode over to grab him up by his arm and dust him off. "Don't be such a little drama queen. I could have just kneed you in the ass, you know—I was merciful."

Phil spluttered, slapping his hands away from him. "Jerk!"

"_Children_," Helga groaned loudly before Zack could say anything to send Phil on a rant, rubbing her temples, "I have an aching headache, you can't do this right now. I want to enjoy today, please. Just try to behave for _one day_. This is for Gerald and Phoebe, we can't screw this up." She grabbed Zack and Ham by their arms then and proceeded to drag them to the front door. "Phil, don't think just because I don't have three arms means you're left out of this! Get inside!"

"But, Mom, gifts—" Ham tried again.

"Arnold and I already got him a gift, we'll just say it's from all of us. The kid's going off to college anyway, he doesn't have room for a bunch of crap." She let go of them so she could sort through her keys, trying to find the right one. Her key ring was filled to the brim with all sorts of keys of different shapes and sizes, thanks to her many odd jobs around Big Bob's Beeper Emporium and various other random things she'd done over the years. She always promised herself she'd get them all sorted out but between work and writing and raising four kids, she just never found the time. Her searching became a bit more aggressive as her patience trickled out, as it always did.

"What did you get him?" Ham was unwise enough to ask, clearly not thinking. Both Zack and Phil grimaced.

Helga exploded around, her hands flying up along with the keys, which clunked Phil in the head. "_I don't know_! A calculator or a basketball or something! Arnold picked it out, I was just there! How the hell should I know what the fu—"

"Um, Helga, honey," a scratchy male voice called from behind the kids. Arnold's football shaped head popped around Ham then, his grin spread nervously across his face. "I would advise you to stray away from certain words." Amanda peeked her head out from behind Arnold's leg, being able to tell when her mother was on a rampage.

"Arnold," she stuttered, her fury immediately dissipating at the sight of her two angels, "I didn't even see you pull up. We just got back…"

"Oh, yeah," Arnold laughed, stepping around his sons to give her a small hug. "I let class out a bit early today. It was kind of impulsive, but I know how stressed out birthdays make you." He let go of her and reached down to pick the keys up from the ground, and expertly found the house key in two seconds. He handed it to her with a smile. "Let's get ready."

Helga stared at him a second, before a breath left her unbidden and she took the key from him, her shoulders relaxing. "You are a lifesaver."

"I know." He grinned, his teeth in sparkling view and looking ready to kiss her.

"Okay, okay already," Phil burst suddenly, the hand that had been rubbing his head reaching up and snapping the key out of his mother's hand. He pushed past her to unlock the door and shoved it open, throwing the keys carelessly into the bowl on the small, wooden table by the door before marching towards the stairs.

"Phil," Arnold said with surprise, walking into the house, "where are you going? We're going to be heading back out very soon."

"I know," Phil said sourly, already on his way up the stairs and peeking his head over the railing to look at him distinct unamusement, "but I need to brush my teeth. I can just _feel_ the cavities coming in thanks to you."

Before Arnold could reply, Zack practically flew into the house and fell to his knees on the long green rug, breathing deeply in. "_Home_, I'm going to miss you for the next several hours. I barely knew thee." He dug his hands into the rug, sighing despairingly. "Parting is such, _such_ sweet sorrow. I don't know how I'll survive without your soft, plush chairs and your…" he ran the back of his hand down the wall with longing eyes, "sickly yellow wallpaper… We really do need to redecorate."

"Several hours—" Helga nearly raged at the idea, her mouth falling into a massive black hole for flies.

Arnold grabbed her around her shoulders before she could, though, and gave Zack a flat look at his over-display. "Zack, we'll only be there a _few_ hours." He smiled then, his eyelids falling. "We'll be in and out and back home before any of us know it. Maybe we'll even get some dinner there, that way when we get home we can all just _relax_." He rubbed Helga's tense shoulders a little as he said these words soothingly, trying to keep her zen.

Helga sighed out a huff of breath, putting a hand on his over her shoulder in thanks.

Zack spoke as he stood up from the floor and turned back towards them, his lips smirking upwards, "Maybe so, but the ache I'm going to have in my back for the next few days won't be worth any amount of raw fish and transparently wrapped vegetables. I'm just thankful Gerald managed to swing getting a normal couch in the living room—I plan on chilling in there, so don't be surprised if you don't see me—"

"Oh, hell no!" Helga flew forward out of Arnold's hands to point a finger straight into Zack's startled face, her shoulders set. "You are going to suffer through every step of this catastrophe with us! Every birthday wish, every damn candle that boy blows out, you are going to have shoved straight into your smug little face! Don't you try to weasel out of this, short man!"

Zack's face immediately blanched. He blinked a couple times before muttering out submissively, "Okay."

Helga smiled, satisfied.

* * *

><p>"Helga," a younger Arnold said as he was drying dishes, staring intently as her pale hands washed away the grime from a plate with the bubbles spread out across her bare arms, her loose pink sweater rolled up at the sleeves, "Zack made a rather interesting observation yesterday." He placed the plate away into the cupboard, his back to her.<p>

"Oh?" she asked suspiciously, a thickly trimmed eyebrow cocking itself up though her eyes stayed intent on her task.

"Yes," he replied, innocently enough, and turned back around to pick up a freshly cleaned dish from the drainer to dry off. "We were just discussing my last name, and how nobody ever really knew what it was when we were kids got brought up." A smirk slithered it's way across his lips for a brief second before he cleared it away and gave her a childish grin.

Helga hummed deep in the back of her throat, handing him another plate without looking at him. "And your point, Shortman…?"

"Oh, you know that now," he commented offhandedy, a small grin beginning at his lips as he dried off the plate.

Her eyes snapped to him, eyebrow still raised. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Arnold licked his lips, biting his lip hard to keep from all out beaming at her in smug victory. "Only that my grandpa was calling me by my last name for years and you never figured it out." He flicked his eyes to hers right at that moment, his smile widening. "A bit… dense of you, wouldn't you say?"

Helga's face exploded into the oddest look. She looked absolutely dumbfounded. Arnold decided it was the most perfect look he'd ever seen on her, it was so rare; so beautifully, magnificently rare, like a mermaid or a double rainbow. He wanted to inhale it in, to keep it for all eternity 'cause he doubted he'd ever be able to resist grinning when he thought back on it.

That was ruined when Helga said, "Who the hell says I didn't figure it out?"

Arnold's face went blank. "What?"

Helga's face was thoroughly drained of shock and in it's place was the flattest look he'd ever seen on her. Definitely less enjoyable a face on her. "Football Head, what kind of an idiot do you take me for? Phil did call you it all the time." She rolled her ocean eyes around, a wave crashing against his dreams of finally getting a one up on her. "I'll admit for a while I didn't know it, but as soon as I realized I didn't I did some investigating." She scrubbed a particularly stubborn spot on one plate, her eyes focusing on it as she finished, her arm jerking, "It wasn't exactly hard to figure out."

Arnold stared down at the plate in his hand, now thoroughly dry, but he continued running the towel over it anyway. "Oh."

Helga sensed his dismay and turned her head over to him, her eyes softening. She took pity as she withdrew her hands from the soapy water and took the dry plate from his hands, setting it down on the counter so she could dry her arms off on the towel in his hands. Once her arms were dry, she brought her cold, softened hands up to his face, tut tutting his disappointment. "Aw, Arnold, you really thought you had me. Poor baby."

Arnold's eyes fell half-lidded, unamused. "_Helga_."

She just rolled her eyes, patting his cheek. "Don't give me that, I'm trying here." She leaned up to peck him on the lips, trying to look sympathetic as possible for her love. She'd gotten better over the years, he'd give her that. "If it helps, I _was_ pretty clueless for a while there. I heard Phil calling you Shortman for years but it took me a long time to put two and two together… I mean, you were short, it was pretty easy to just assume he was referring to that." Her face twisted in the laughter she was trying to hide and she let go of his disturbed face to turn around, her shoulders shaking a little. "You were so tiny," her voice shook, some laughter escaping despite herself.

A small scream shot out of her when Arnold whipped her with the dish towel, smirking. "Yeah, but not anymore, so I suggest you keep that big mouth of yours shut."

She whipped her head around over her shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes exaggeratingly. "All the better to kiss you with, darling!"

Arnold snorted, grabbing her by her arm to pull her closer to him. "Come here, you little brat."

"You're too easy," she laughed, falling into him.

He held her to him with his arms around her back and waist, chuckling deeply. "Says the woman who practically suffocated me before I could even fully ask her to marry me."

Helga stiffened at that. "I'm going to kill you for bringing that up again." She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, her hands digging into his shirt. "Later."

Arnold just laughed, softer than before, more warm, and rested his head on hers. "You're a mess."

"You're my mess," she murmured, taking in the scent of him, of fresh sea air with just a hint of spice. "My life would be a lot more sane without you, but I wouldn't be happy."

Arnold's hands dug further into her, and his arms tightened as he replied, "Same here."

She hummed musically into his chest, before curiosity finally got the best of her and she asked, her eyes opening, "Why were you talking about our last name anyway?"

Arnold's smile warmed at her use of 'our,' and he shrugged his shoulders. "Apparently some kids were making fun of Zack in school for it. I guess they thought it was funny."

Helga snorted, pulling away from him a little so she could look in his face, smirking. "Short? Zack's not—"

"I know," Arnold laughed out, before grinning.

Helga rolled her eyes with a smile, still in slight disbelief at this news. "Criminy, kids will make fun of anything, won't they?"

"You would know." Arnold smirked.

She slapped him in the chest and pulled away, trying to look unamused though her face wouldn't cooperate. "Keep your trap shut, Football Head, and keep drying!" She grabbed the towel off of the counter where he'd sat it and whipped him this time, right in the arm. He jerked away with a face jokingly twisted in offense and she laughed, throwing the towel in his face.

He humphed through the towel before pulling it off of his face to find Helga back washing dishes again, purposely not looking at him though he could just spot her smile. His smirk still remained pulling at his lips as he picked up the dry plate still resting on the counter and went to put it away. He spoke as he opened up the cupboard. "You know I even think I heard him mumble that they've been calling him 'short man.'"

"_Seriously_?" her voice came in instant fascination, her head whipping around to broadcast her enthusiastic blue eyes at him. She grinned crookedly, finding the idea positively hilarious. "Awww, just like his old man!" she gushed.

Arnold rolled his eyes with a small snort, and walked over to her to grab the clean plate from her hand with an exaggerated jerk of his arm to help emphasize his point as he replied, "It's not a good thing, Helga." His hands absentmindedly dried off the plate.

"_Please_, why not?" she bubbled up, no pun intended to her task, and leaned over to him teasingly. "You're always complaining he's not enough like you, and now you have something in common!"

"They didn't mean it in a nice way, Helga," he said dryly, walking over to put the plate away. He spoke with his back turned, "I want us to have something good in common, something we can look back fondly on when he's our age and has kids of his own."

Helga rolled her eyes, plucking a fork up to wipe off. "So slap a baseball cap on him. Easy enough. But I still think it's cute." Her eyes shifted down to the fork in her hand, her eyes softening as she made a small laugh and bounced her shoulders. "Short man… Hilarious. I oughta call him that."

Arnold sent her a look. "Helga, don't be mean."

"I wouldn't say it to be mean," she defended, shooting her eyes to him to give him a look of her own. She smiled then. "I just think it's ironic, and I've been wanting a nickname for him anyway." She gave the fork a small flick to get rid of any residual liquid before handing it to him to finish the job. "Although—"

She was interrupted by the sound of the front door suddenly whipping open and slamming shut, and before either could blink Zack was standing in the doorway with his face ghostly white and eyes hazed. He held his left arm in his right shakingly, and just barely managed to mumble, "I think I broke my arm."

Both Arnold and Helga's jaws practically slammed into the floor, and Helga was on her knees in front of him inspecting his arm before the thought to do so had even finished crossing her mind. Her mind was speeding by in a panicked buzz, and she barely even knew what she was saying. "What happened, honey—how did you hurt it—can you move your fingers—where does it hurt—" question after question flew from her mouth beyond her control, and she put a hand to his cheek to try to soothe him as she looked him over.

He trembled in his spot, his breathing a little shallow from the pain. He stuttered, "I don't know, it just—I mean, we were playing and I fell and landed on it funny and—and—I can sorta move my thumb, I think, but I don't—"

"Okay, everything is going to be fine," Arnold's voice suddenly boomed over them as he was throwing on his coat, ever the level head in the house. He set his face as he explained, moving out of the room, "We're going to the hospital. I'll grab Josh and Phil and we'll be out the door in just a minute—"

"What's going on?" a small voice called suddenly from the other doorway, and they all looked over to see a small football headed boy standing there with his drooping unruly hair and wide blue eyes.

"Josh," Arnold said almost commandingly, walking over to him, "we're going to the hospital, Zack's hurt his arm."

A small four-year-old came waddling into the room then, and fell into Josh's body, clinging to his leg like it was his favorite toy. His big green eyes snapped up to meet his father's, scared, and his mop of brown hair fell over into his face. He tried to blow it away but ultimately failed, and he pouted through it when he finally gave up. Arnold knew he must be really freaked out to not smile at that, but he hid it well as he picked Phil up from the floor, ignoring his squeal of protest, and firmly took hold of Josh's hand. "Come on, guys." He led them to the door in a hurry.

"Okay, okay, okay," Helga repeated over and over again, trying to calm herself down as she stood up and led Zack as gently as possible to the door. Her spazzing out and near-hyperventilation did little to quell his own fears, and he gulped. He made a small reminder to himself to never break anything again for his mom's sake—if he could even help it, that is.

"Everything will be just fine, short man," her voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, and he gasped as his head whirled in her direction.

"Don't call me that!" he squeaked, his arm trembling worse.

Helga's eyes widened for a mere second, before her nervous smile broke down and she nodded. "Okay, Zacky. Everything will be fine."


	9. Looking Up: Part 2

**A/N: **For the record, this stery ain't finershed. :B I've just been posting because it's gotten too long and I'm impatient. So if you ever come back to find crap has been all switchered and discompoopulated, it's cause I've made revisions to crap further down in the stery that affected dis shizz. As a warning, sh*t's gonna be getting real from henceforth. So put on your helmets and/or thinking caps (the twirly thingamabob can double as a flying device so you can GTFO) on and be prepared. *Lion King's "BE PREPARED" roars*

In ze usual order, my lovely, wonderful readers :'D :

**~People that are too sexy for their shirts~**

Panfla

Gloria Spark

metalheadrailfan

writergirl97

Stephanie Ha

Nep2une

acosta perez jose ramiro

starrynights1987

Narcisa Le Fay

Ashlee

The love. :'D Special thanks especially to **Narcisa Le Fay**, who's reviews always make me faint with happiness. XD I LOVE LONG REVIEWS. But they're so rare. ;_; You are a gem! Thank you! :'D And to everyone else who has blessed me with a review. I want to reply back but I'm busy. D: I'll do it... eventually... Try to be patient with the impatient person that is me! xD

Also, **metalheadrailfan**, I hope I did Taro justice in this chapter. ._. I didn't have anything go off of but your picture and this is just how he seemed to me... If you wanted to fill out one of my "OC Character Profiles," I wouldn't complain. XD This is only his introduction anyway. There's still plenty of time for development! :D

NOW ONTO THE F-ING STORY ALREADY ANFKLNFLKNSKLFSNL

**Disclaimer:** I don't own shizz. *Gets drunk on root beer from depression* Except the people that I do own... I own them. *Passes out upside down from root beer overload*

* * *

><p><strong>Looking Up<strong>

**Part 2  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"He'll be perfectly fine," the doctor said in a cool voice, looking over his clipboard with a smile. "There was a fracture in the bone, but we put him in a cast and he should be right as rain in about six weeks. But that's just the average, since he's so young it could take shorter. Youngens tend to heal faster than us old cods." He laughed.<p>

Arnold smiled a little awkwardly, not sure how he felt being called an old cod. "Uh, right."

"Yeah," he grinned at him, "but we'll bring him back in in a few weeks to see how it's healing. I'll put you down for an appointment around on the… third? Would that be okay?" He didn't even look up as he wrote something down on his board.

"Yes that's fine," Arnold sighed out in relief. His eyes sparked up with anxiety then and he gripped his hands around each other. "What about my wife?"

"Oh, Mrs. Shortman's fine, I'm sure," the middle aged man guessed carelessly as he wandered over to grab a muffin off of a food cart sitting across the hall. Taking a greedy bite out of it, he smiled at Arnold and spoke with his mouth a bit full, "The nurses are taking care of her as we speak."

Arnold let out a small tortured moan, leaning against the wall in exhaustion, both emotional and physical by this point. "I just don't understand how she could have gotten sick so fast. She was fine on the drive over here."

"Could just be motion sickness," the doctor said with a shrug, swallowing. "Or stress, perhaps a small panic attack. Particularly stressful events like these can set mothers very on edge."

"I guess that could be," Arnold sighed, looking down. He'd nearly keeled over after the nurses had taken Zack away for some tests, and his wife suddenly looked green in the face and was throwing up in the waiting room. He was very good at staying strong in situations like these, growing up in the boarding house with everyone fighting and screaming all the time had taught him that, but no man could handle watching the two things he loved most whisked away by a bunch of bothersome nurses because something was _wrong_ with them. Helga had been brave, she'd tried to fight them off, but in the end they'd won out like they always did. Arnold was happy to have her taken care of but it almost wasn't worth being left alone in the waiting room with no way of knowing what was going on. Arnold looked up, biting his lip. "Can I see him now?"

The doctor looked almost startled at the request, and he bobbed his head up and down. "Oh, of course. He's just resting. He suffered quite the shock." He shook his head as if it were a shame, opening up the door for Arnold to walk in.

Arnold looked to him gratefully as he walked inside, before his eyes were assaulted with the sight of his son sitting on a hospital bed with his arm in a monstrous looking cast. He was staring down at the floor tiredly, his sunshine hair a wreck. He had a bad habit of messing it up when he was nervous so the sight of it thrown around as if he'd just suffered through a hurricane broke Arnold's heart.

His wife's blue eyes came up to rest tentatively on him as he walked the rest of the way in, his face wrinkled with concern. He didn't doubt his own hair probably looked like a golden fire, twisting in every which way and all over. He didn't care though as he finished the short walk and stood before his nine-year-old son, who was currently looking up at him with the wariest expression. This wasn't right, this wasn't Zack—Zack smiled too much and went the extra mile to screw with people's heads. Just this morning he'd put hot sauce in his coffee. Now he was starting to regret yelling at him.

He'd been so suspicious the last while, he realized, it didn't feel right to Arnold. He'd stopped being as welcoming to strangers, and his face was always searching out scrutiny when people looked at him. The similarity between his behavior and Helga's when she'd been his age physically hurt him. They'd worked so hard so that he'd never have to look like that—they never neglected him, they purposely avoided taking trips that were too far away, and if they did, they brought the kids with them. They'd made a promise when they'd first become parents to never have them deal with the pains they'd had to deal with when they were growing up, but now it was starting to feel like it was all falling out from under them. He didn't want to force his troubles out of him, but he was starting to feel like he didn't have a choice. He was too stubborn; too much like Helga.

Arnold took in a shaky breath, fighting to keep the smile on his face as he stared down into Helga's deep blue eyes looking up at him.

Zack spoke first, forcing a grin that wasn't really there, "Heya, Dad." He shifted over on the bed a little, mindful of the clunky thing wound around his arm, and gestured for him to sit with his right arm.

After a moment, Arnold did so, his weight bearing down on the mattress and causing Zack to fall into him. His good arm hit his side and Zack made a small grunt, shifting back over to his side of the bed. "You're gigantic," he commented half-heartedly.

Arnold indulged himself with a laugh, reaching over to pat him on the back gently. "I'm fully grown and this bed is ridiculously plush. You're just tiny is all."

Zack frowned at that, his eyes snapping to the wall.

"Hey," Arnold said softly, craning his head slightly to make him look at him, "I was just joking."

Zack looked over at him, not smiling but at least not frowning now. "I know." He seemed to be satisfied with this reply because he looked back down, visibly swallowing.

Arnold coughed a little to fill the silence, his eyes wandering the room from the blindingly white walls to the faded blue tiles. A less than cozy looking room, and not very interesting. "You know," he began quietly, the sound of beeping and faint footsteps easily ignored when he talked, "when times get particularly tough sometimes, my grandma had a song. You might remember it."

Zack didn't respond to that, but he did shift his eyes over to look at him. Arnold took this as encouragement to go on and smiled at him, pouring as much sincerity as he could into it despite the hellish day he'd had so far. Leaning over towards him, he sang as best he could despite his less than admirable singing abilities, "When life gets you down, wearing a frown, don't look away, look up…"

Zack's eyes were wide on him now from him suddenly bursting into song like that, it was so out of character, and he opened his mouth to protest when Arnold suddenly began again with his scratchy singing.

"'Cause memories true, come of the blue; you know the way—look up!" Arnold looked at him imploringly with a smile.

Zack blinked at him, before shifting his eyes up to the ceiling sarcastically. "Popcorn ceiling, not a particularly pleasant sight but I guess—"

Arnold cut off his silly comment when he began singing louder, wrapping an arm around Zack's stressing shoulders, "When skies are gone gray, things gone astray, don't hide away—look up!" He looked at him deliberately, raising an eyebrow to see if he remembered or not.

Zack just stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Arnold tilted his head away slightly, beginning for him, "I had—"

Zack suddenly burst into song beside him in interruption, throwing his one good arm into the air, "I had a bad day, nothing went right, I hate my dumb life, I'm _down_!" It sounded too much like a confession to Arnold so he tightened his arm around him and began singing promptly.

"When you're feeling under the weather, and the dark clouds are getting to you—make your troubles light as a feather, and soon you'll be seeing a patch of blue!" His tongue slipped awkwardly over the last verse, the tune sounding odd to him as he trailed off like a broken record.

"A _bright_ patch of blue," Zack corrected with a laugh, and Arnold snapped his head to him with a pleasantly surprised grin, green eyes lit. Zack's grin softened and he shrugged by means of answer and took in a deep breath to sing with him, which Arnold happily obliged to.

"_You_… gotta look up, you gotta be strong, you gotta take things as they come!" Zack's youthful, boyish voice blended surprisingly well with Arnold's deep, gravelly tone, and despite themselves, they felt they sounded pretty decent as they finished off on a high note, "'Cause everything new that happens to you is better when _you_… look _up_!"

They burst into laughter, Zack falling into his dad as Arnold nearly fell over on the bed from it bouncing beneath them.

They were interrupted by the sudden sound of raucous applause, and their eyes snapped to the doorway to see Helga smirking at them with her arms crossed, several nurses surrounding her clapping them on with Cheshire grins.

Zack soaked it up with a beaming grin, jumping off of the bed to fall into a deep bow. "Thank you, thank you, you're too kind."

"You should start a duo," one of the nurses commented from he front of the group, her hair a bright blonde and eyes a vivid, steely gray, contrary to how she was laughing.

"Ha, with this old man?" Zack asked jokingly, standing and jerking his thumb in the direction of Arnold still seated on the bed with a grin. "Who would pay to see _that_—"

"I would," Helga volunteered, her smirk turning into a soft smile as she looked between her two loves. "Nearly killed myself the first time trying to get tickets the last time he sang on stage."

"You sang?" Zack asked incredulously, turning around to look at his dad with a strange look.

Arnold laughed, waving it off modestly. "When we were kids, for a talent show. Gerald was on piano, it really wasn't that big a deal."

"Yes, yes, modest comment, modest comment, but enough reminiscing," Helga started with a small flick of her eyes to the ceiling, walking into the room to stand before them, and both Arnold and Zack's eyes widened as all the nurses came bumbling in after her, practically clinging to her back with eager looks.

"Helga," Arnold said with an ashamed tilt down of his head, finally remembering that she'd been throwing up before, "I got carried away, I'm sorry." Standing up, he walked over to her and put a hand on her arm lightly, his face instantly twisting with a worry Helga thought he felt much too often for her liking. "Are you feeling better?"

"Oh, Arnold," Helga sighed lovingly, reaching up to touch his face, "I'm feeling much better. Two of my most loved people on the planet are safe and happy." She reached the hand not on Arnold's cheek to dance affectionately across Zack's hair, combing out the tangles without really having to think about it. Her head flew up to Arnold's then. "Speaking of loved ones, where are Josh and Phil?"

"Oh, they're being watched over in childcare just across the street," one of the nurses suddenly piped up in a nasally voice, her stribbly black head popping up over the other nurses and her brown eyes huge. "I'll go get them!" she volunteered eagerly, suddenly racing out of the room as fast as her stilt-like legs could go.

"Are we ready to go already?" Zack asked with a surprised blink.

"Well, I'm not sure," Helga said, looking down at him with a look he couldn't quite identify. "We can if you want, but first I have some news, and I want to be in a hospital when I tell you." She put an effective hand on Arnold's back, causing him to raise an eyebrow at her.

"I thought you said you were okay—" Arnold began, concern beginning to stress at his brow again.

"Oh, don't you worry your ridiculous, football-shaped head over that, Arnold, I'm fine." She smirked at him, and he realized her face was paler than normal. Despite himself, Arnold's expression didn't change. Helga stared at him a moment longer, before she sighed and leaned up to whisper in his ear. Arnold listened intently for a second, before his face suddenly drained of all color and his eyes bolted open, his mouth a small o that barely allowed the passage of air. His pupils had practically exploded, and Helga grunted when he suddenly began to sway on the spot.

"Criminy, every time," she growled, doing her best to prop him up though his legs were suddenly beginning to give out.

Zack looked like he was ready to try to help, but Helga shook her head at him quick, throwing her hand up to him to stop. "No, Zack, your arm's hurt. It's okay, I can—" Arnold suddenly fell straight back onto the bed, nearly crushing the mattress all together, and Helga fell with him with a squeal. Grunting as she pulled her head out of his shoulder, she propped herself up on her elbows to look down at his face, now fallen into a shocked slumber.

"Geez, what did you say to him?" Zack asked in disbelief, jumping up on the bed to inspect his father.

Helga laughed at the question, as if it were the most hilarious thing she'd heard all day, and snapped her smirky eyes over to his own. "Oh nothing major… Just told him I'm pregnant."

Zack's jaw flew out the window

"Okay, what happened?" a tiny voice groaned in the doorway, and everyone looked back to the doorway to see Josh looking at them all exasperated, holding a small Phil by the hand that wasn't currently residing in his mouth.

Zack's eye twitching was the only response given before everything went black to him.

* * *

><p>"Mommy, mommy," Amanda squealed, jumping up and down on her feet with her pigtails bouncing in tune with her high leaps, "is there going to be cake and cupcakes and cookies and—" her pupils suddenly went to the size of Jupiter, sparkling like a newborn star, "chocolate turtles…" She breathed it like a prayer, immediately standing still.<p>

Helga sighed, raising a hand up to flip her bangs out of her face. To think she'd willingly signed up for this crap.

"Did someone say chocolate turtles?" Phil suddenly piped up from the top of the stairs, coming down.

"No, no one said anything about chocolate turtles." Helga put a hand on Amanda's head to ensure she wouldn't start bouncing again, and gave them all a testy look, her foot tapping. "Arnold went up to get the present out of our closet so everyone just shut up until he comes back. And Amanda," she looked down at her sternly, "yes, there will be cake, and no, you cannot eat all of it."

Amanda pouted, crossing her arms.

"Whatever," Phil muttered, jumping off the last step to the bottom floor and leaning against the wall.

"I don't know why everyone is so touchy—" Zack tried to comment, smiling with a tease in his eyes.

"Hey," Helga snapped, whipping her head over to him with a glare, "I don't remember telling you you could speak!"

Zack let out a huff of breath, his eyes wandering away in mirth. "Terribly sorry, ma'am, shan't happen again."

Ham coughed, elbowing Zack in the arm to catch his attention after Helga had turned back around. He whispered as discreetly as he could, "We could make a break for it, you know."

Zack eyed him, licking his chapped lips before replying quietly, "I'm listening."

Ham clasped his hands in front of himself, trying to look innocent as he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "The cars are too small to fit all of us without having Amanda in one of our laps—if we're adamant enough, we might be able to convince them to split us up in different cars. All we have to do is make it in Dad's car, confuse him so we're a little late, then slip away right as we show up. The arcade's just a short walk away from their house, it'd be easy."

"Ooooh," Zack winced at his sloppy planning, "sounds risky, and if Mom found out—"

"Dad knows how strict Mom is, if we butter him up you know he won't tell on us—"

"But Mom will notice, she notices everything—"

"We'll make Phil make an excuse for us, the house is crowded enough—"

"Like Phil would do _that_—"

Ham grinned, leaning over towards him with a glint in his eye. "He will if we have _blackmail_."

Zack raised one half of his brow at him, skeptical. "You have blackmail on him?"

Ham shook his head, holding back a laugh. "No, but I know you do."

"Hmmm," Zack mulled this over, his eyes wandering away in thought. He did have blackmail on Phil, mountains of it, some of which that would bring him to his knees should he want, but Zack wasn't as sadistic as the little scoundrel. He knew most everything about everyone but he kept it to himself unless he absolutely had to use it, whether it be to get something he wanted or to simply remind them who was boss. This would be one of those times. Birthday parties at the Johanssens were always especially grueling, what with having to sit on the floor and eating strange, scary-looking foods and plus Jaron whining the entire time no matter how much Zack whined back.

Still, at the same time, he didn't want to just abandon his best friend. He'd clearly been trying not to think about it all day if he hadn't spoken a word about it to Zack, so he'd probably spontaneously combust if he didn't have someone to screw off with at the party. He'd be stuck talking about cheese dips with Amanda or something. Zack shuddered at the thought.

"I really don't know, Josh," Zack said unsurely, before something occurred to him and he snapped his eyes over to Ham's, one side of his eyebrow cocked suspiciously. "Since when are you into blackmail and sneaking off anyway, Mr. Goodie-Track-Shoes?"

Ham looked swiftly away, shrugging. "You have your reasons, I have mine."

"Ohhh, I see," Zack practically giggled, his fingers dancing over each other in enthusiasm. There was a story there. He made a mental note to find out all about it. It was harder to get blackmail over Ham because he rarely did anything wrong—the majority of his stash were his constant attempts to get a one-up on _him_, which, to be frank, never worked out and never would, so there wasn't a lot of meat there… ironically enough. So this was a delightful little breath of fresh air.

This was dashed away when Helga said, in a painfully calm voice as she stroked Amanda's bangs out of her face, "If you two try to make a break for it, I swear I'll have your butts chopped off and hung above my mantle before sundown."

Both their faces went white, and they scrambled to say at the same time, "We weren't—"

She cut her eyes at them, effectively shutting them up, and said drolly, "_Right, _of course not."

"All right guys!" Arnold's voice suddenly came as he bounded down the steps, a shiny-green wrapped box in his hand. "Let's go!"

* * *

><p>"No getting out of this now," Ham muttered shakily, staring as their father knocked on the solid whitely painted wooden door, the sounds of laughter and chatter audible even through the thick walls and windows.<p>

Zack sighed out a long sigh, before throwing a grin on his face and straightening up his posture. "It would appear not. Nothing to do now but make the best of it." As soon as the sight of Gerald's face came into view, Zack paraded his way inside and right past him, taking in the room. Black and white streamers were draped across the walls, colorful confetti dribbled across tables and furniture, and a banner hung up on the main wall reading, "Happy 17th" with some Japanese lettering beneath it that Zack didn't care to even attempt reading. People scattered the room, and Zack's eyes darted around in a furious attempt of finding anyone he knew.

"Yes, come right on in, Zack," Gerald said with dry amusement, his lips quirking.

"Don't mind if I do," Zack laughed, spinning around to grin at him humorously.

"Manners, Zachary," Arnold warned him, walking into the house with present still in hand as the rest of their family followed in after him, Helga walking over to stand beside him.

"Ohhh," Gerald pretended to leer with a grin, bringing his hands up to imitate claws, "the big bad Arnold says no fun is allowed at a birthday party." Gerald burst into a deep laugh, clapping Arnold on the back as Helga snickered. "You'll always be a party pooper, Arnold."

Arnold flushed, giving Gerald one of his infamous, unamused looks. Helga wrapping her arm around his destroyed any traces of annoyance in him, though, and he squeezed her arm with his, smiling at her.

"Hey, Turkey!" Gerald beamed, grabbing Ham into a strong hug that had him gnashing his teeth in nerves.

"Uh, it's Ham—"

Gerald pulled back, laughing, and rolled his eyes. "Of course I know that, I'm just messing with you. How have you been? Since Tori went off to college I hardly ever see you!"

Ham smiled a tiny smile that you had to use a microscope to see. "I'm great."

"Great!" Gerald grinned, grabbing Amanda up from the floor and laughing as she giggled. "Come on, guys, I'll show you where the food's at."

"There'd better be cupcakes," Zack heard Amanda mutter as Gerald stamped off.

"Zack!" a male voice suddenly screeched from behind Zack, making him jump a foot off the floor before dark arms were suddenly infused around his body.

Once he realized what was happening, Zack laughed, letting his best friend practically squeeze the life out of him. "Jaron, I was looking for you!"

Jaron suddenly let go him and Zack turned around to see he was glaring at him jokingly, tapping his foot. "Dude, you're late. I've been _dying_."

Zack laughed even louder, the cheerful atmosphere almost demanding it of him. "Sorry, man, you know how my family is."

"Yeah, and you know how mine is," Jaron despaired, throwing a look to the rowdy bunch in the main room.

"Aw, poor thing," Zack teased, walking over to throw an arm around his shoulders. He lowered his voice so he could ask in jest, putting a hand up to shield his words, "So where are all the women at anyway?"

Jaron snorted, throwing an amused grin in his direction. "Dude, don't even joke, it's not fair."

"Indeed," Phil's voice suddenly cut through their private joke and they both looked down to see he was standing right next to them, giving them a flat look.

"Philly—" Zack tried to fix what he'd said, grinning nervously.

Phil just put his hand up. "Don't attempt it, you'll only fail." He meandered off into the crowd then, muttering dryly beneath his breath, "Simpletons…"

Zack blinked as his youngest brother walked away, then blinked once more after he was gone, before a sly smirk slid onto his face and he looked to Jaron again. "So anyway, the ladies?"

Jaron rolled his eyes, a wild grin appearing on his face. "Well, there is _one_."

Zack's eyes widened, having not expected him to take him seriously, before he chuckled. "I was only joking but—_Seriously_?" He chortled at the images bombarding his brain, withdrawing his arm from around his friend to put his hands on his knees for support.

Jaron snapped his eyes to him in surprise, his mouth open. "Ah, dude, not like that. But I did kind of sort of impulsively invite _one_ girl." His eyes wandered away in thought of said girl, a small smile curving at his lips.

"Jaron, you _dog_." Zack chuckled, standing up straight to grin at him. "Who?"

A finger was suddenly shoved directly into his face and he went cross-eyed. "_You_…"

Zack's jaw dropped as his blue eyes wandered up to meet two flaming green ones, attached to a pale face and a hideously set mouth. His brain stuttered to a stop and for a few seconds, he was sure he was in space, before it sped up to ninety and it clicked all at once, nearly shattering his brain in realization. His eyes smashed to Jaron's grinning face and he yelled, gesturing to the beast, "_Her_?"

Jaron's grin barely twitched at the exclamation, a small laugh even daring to escape his mouth as if this was funny. "Well she wanted to talk to you so I told her you'd be here—"

"Why would you do that?" Zack's voice came as an incredulous squeak.

"Hey, Captain Crap Head," Pam yelled, shoving her finger further in his face, "I'm trying to yell at you!"

Zack gave her a disinterested, flat look. "I'm sorry, but if you're going to make comments like that, you're also going to have to supply me with some craps to give. 'Cause really, I'm coming up dry over here."

Pam growled, throwing her arm stiffly at her side so she could glare up at him. "How can that be even a little true when you're so full of shit? All I've been wanting to do is _talk_. Why are you making such a big deal?"

"Yes, Zack," Jaron said in a professional voice, stroking his chin as he drifted over to stand next to Pam, putting on his best distinguished gentleman face, "why? Reveal your feelings."

Zack groaned, putting a hand to his face. Of all the terrible things he'd thought would happen at this party, this had not been one of them. But of course, he'd only expected mild annoyance, not horrendous, life-shattering distress.

Pam seemed to sense his pain because her angry expression twitched, before it fell all together and she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look, I'll leave you alone if it's so important to you—"

"_Thank you_!" Zack suddenly burst, his arms flying out like he was welcoming a herd of angels singing the hallelujah chorus.

"—_for tonight_," she finished with a stubborn emphasis, destroying his joy in two seconds flat. "I still want to talk to you, but I'll stop badgering you for one night, just to give you some time to get used to the idea of me," she leaned forward into his face, her eyes cutting themselves sharply, her voice quieting, "_never leaving you alone _until you tell me what grade you got, _Monobrow_."

Zack's face blanked at the threat, before a cocky, crooked grin sprung onto his face, much to her surprise. "Oh, I couldn't even imagine going a day without your sunshiney face, buttercup—Oh, wait, yes I can, that was two days ago." His eyes skipped into the distance nostalgically, falling halfway. "Good times."

Pam slapped him in the arm as hard as she could manage, making his eyes snap back to her in offense. She grinned triumphantly, crossing her arms over her chest as she shrugged her shoulders. "Just because you're not a violent person doesn't mean I can't be." She turned around then and stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder one last time, before walking off back into the swarm of mad people.

Zack's brain fizzled and popped like bacon, words he didn't even know he knew coming out as a harsh grumble from his mouth.

The sound of Jaron laughing woke him up from his frustrated haze and he looked over at him, only to be further angered when he came to see his face filled with mirth at his anger. "Dude, what is this all about? We've been friends for six years now and I've seen you angry more times in _one_ day than in the entire duration of our friendship. What dirt does she _have_ on you?" He laughed incredulously, throwing his head back.

Zack snapped his body in his direction, his shoulders turning to stone. His left arm twitched erratically and he took in a shallow breath, trying to reclaim his sanity. Once he felt a little more himself, he flew forward and grabbed him by his shoulders, shaking him in sheer panic. "_Why would you invite that witch_? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one!"

"Shhh!" Jaron pushed him away, his brown eyes wide and shocked. "Come on, you know what people will think—"

"Jaron," Zack whined, "I don't have time for your insecurities right now, you've seriously screwed me over."

"Why?" Jaron asked with a furrow of his eyebrows, putting his hands on his hips. "Why is this so bad? I thought you were Zachary Shortman, an impenetrable wall of smoothness—"

"That will crumble like raspberry cookies if she finds out," he whispered fearfully, trying to chew his bottom lip off and eat it. His eyebrow narrowed then and he crossed his arms. "And moreover, if I'd have known we could just invite people at random I'd have brought Sophie—"

"Oh _hell_ no." Jaron scowled, cutting his arms in the air. "You always get all weird when Sophie's around, you're no fun. At least with Pam I get a little entertainment." He chuckled.

Zack's jaw fell, and he bared his arms out to him in shock. "But Jaron, I thought we were best friends, partners in crime, would-be-lovers—"

"Up up up." Jaron held up his hand, bowing his head down and closing his eyes. "I am a man first, and I need my space, and my kicks." He let his hand fall and opened his eyes then, trying to smile one of his more characteristic grins. "Besides I just think you're being overdramatic. She's not _so_ bad." He licked his lips, putting on a serious face.

"I forbid you from seeing her," Zack deadpanned, his eyebrow going in a straight line across his eyes, completely swept of amusement.

Jaron gaped like a fish, sputtering, "But, dude—"

Zack smirked suddenly, and Jaron almost would have been relieved because it was one of his usual broad, sinful, I'm-holding-all-the-cards smirks and it made him look much more himself, but it was one of his broad, sinful, I'm-holding-all-the-cards smirks, so instead his eyes widened and he looked around in terror.

Then the reason for his sudden smugness shouted his name, a voice that could make even a black man turn white in the face, which Jaron almost did.

"Zack!" A tall, broad-shouldered man suddenly grabbed Zack up in a spine-crushing hug, but Zack was used to them so he just laughed and hugged him back. "Taro!"

Taro let him go and took a step back, grinning largely and proudly. He flipped his long, dark hair out of his eyes and reached back to tie it up in a ponytail, laughing as he did so. "It's been giving me problems all night."

Zack laughed along with him, ignoring Jaron's stiff, big-eyed face as he watched. He nudged Taro in his arm as he joked, "Maybe you should put it up like your dad…"

Both Taro and Zack glanced over to where Gerald was spraying practically an entire can of hairspray into his hair to keep it up, before fluffing it a little with his tongue stuck out and grinning in satisfaction when he felt he had it right. He hid the empty can under the table then and beamed at his guests as if nothing had happened. Taro and Zack looked back to each other then, before bursting into laughter.

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," Taro chuckled, finishing tying his hair up and allowing his hands to drop back to his sides.

"Good, we don't need two Johanssens hitting their hair on the ceiling fans," Zack quipped, letting out one last, hardy chuckle before simply grinning. "Happy birthday, by the way! Jaron was just telling me what a great turnout you had." He looked around at all the guffawing teenagers crashing into each other like drunken mules in their attempts at dancing and mingling and almost had to smirk.

"Is that so?" Taro asked as if this were very interesting, raising an eyebrow to his little brother, who went even stiffer, if that were possible. He grinned then, stepping over to grab him around the neck and give him a hard noogie in his fluffy hair, laughing as he struggled and made strange, enraged noises. "That's my little brother!"

Jaron managed to wretch his head out of his brother's beefy arms and gave him an outraged, twitchy face, before he pushed the expression from his face and replaced it with something akin to impassiveness. He stood stalk-straight. "I didn't ever actually say that, but okay."

Taro laughed, pushing his much shorter, scrawnier brother in the arm and nearly making him fall over. "Always so shy!"

"So did Kori manage to come down for the party?" Zack asked, mercifully taking the attention off of Jaron.

Taro passed him a regretful glance. "Nope, I'm afraid not. But Japan is a long ways away, so I can't fault her for it. I just hope she knows how lucky she is." Taro pretended to grumble to himself, before chuckling. Taro had always been very enthusiastic when it came to his Japanese heritage, and was always trying to find new ways to become closer involved with it. He even wore a white hachimaki in a thin band around his head to keep his hair back, with the typical Japanese flag symbol directly in the middle of it, which he always said he wore as a symbol of the great effort he put into everything he did. Taro was never one for doing things halfway or with a lazy hand, and he was quite confident in his abilities. His slanted eyes lit up then in all their warmth, and he added, "But my aunt and uncles managed to make it. Uncle Jamie-O's been enjoying himself. He's nearly cleaned out the refrigerator of everything but my mom's leftover sushi."

Zack's eyes widened in genuine interest. "Really? Could I have it?"

Taro laughed. "Knock yourself out."

Zack grinned at the permission, rubbing his hands together. He smirked then as he realized exactly how he'd worded that. "Ha, I'd try but I don't know if I could manage it with fish that's been cut up into bite-sized bits. Thanks, though, I love your mom's cooking," his smirk strengthened, "or lack of it anyway."

Taro scratched a little at his soul patch, smirking a little in return. "Whatever you say, Zack. Just try not to make yourself sick like last time, and lay off the sauce, I'm saving it to take with me when I head off next week. It'll go great with the fifty pounds worth of chicken ramen I'm taking." He chortled.

"Couldn't possibly have come any sooner," Jaron mumbled under his breath, his eyes away.

"And I'm going to miss my little brother," Taro fretted suddenly, grabbing him into a one-arm hug and pulling him into his side, making his eyes pop open as wide as they could get. "He's going to be home all alone now. He'll probably just lock himself in his room and never come out again. He can get so involved with that computer." His eyes rolled up and he grimaced.

Zack smirked at Jaron's horrified expression. Revenge was always one of the sweetest things to Zack, because he rarely had to do anything to initiate it before it just came right along on it's own. He supposed it was just Karma scratching his back for him, though he wasn't sure why. He wasn't exactly what one would call 'good and pure,' but he also didn't think he was a bad guy—maybe somewhere in the middle. Either way, he still wasn't the type of person one would think Karma would have high enough respects for to be giving him such an easy time. Sometimes he thought it may be because of his dad, or maybe even his beautiful girlfriend, but he often wondered when Karma would finally give up on him and bite him in the back for how much pleasure he took out of being a jerk. He wasn't worried about it, though, because he wasn't worried about anything. Somehow he just knew everything would always work out for the best. His smirk still in place, he replied almost sinisterly, "Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I'll keep him _plenty_ busy."

Jaron gave him a scathing look, and if Taro wasn't still right next to them holding onto him like a teddy bear, Zack just knew he'd have yelled out, "Mutiny!" The thought made a grin pop onto Zack's face, which then made Jaron scowl harder, which made Taro… Well, he didn't notice so he just grinned. Taro was a loveable guy, ridiculously intelligent and great at most anything he did, but one thing he wouldn't ever be was observant. Zack guessed it was simply because he didn't want to see a problem, because despite his behavior sometimes, he made it very obvious on a regular basis that he loved his brother. Jaron just didn't like him, though, for a multitude of reasons that he'd laid out for Zack one evening after their pizza night years back—he'd even had charts made up. Jaron was nothing if not thorough.

Reason A, according to him, was because he was constantly bringing attention to his supposed 'nerdiness.' Zack had bit his tongue against saying he was only teasing him, because he knew how sensitive Jaron was about the subject and didn't want him going off. Reason B was because he was a nerd too, but he somehow managed to make people like him for it. Zack wasn't all that clear on that one, but apparently Taro could get away with being smart _and_ cool, something Jaron had struggled with his entire life and found to be completely improbable. So in other words, he was jealous, but Zack would have been thrown out of his house forever if he'd pointed it out. Reason C was because he broke the scale model of the Starship enterprise he'd crafted when he was six—or something else long ago and no longer relevant that he was holding onto for dear life. There were other reasons but Zack had zoned out through most of them. He hated negativity and didn't understand why he couldn't just shut up and get along with him. It had scared him, though. He teased his brothers all the time. Did they secretly hate him for it? If so they never gave any indication, they never looked at him any differently or in a dislikeable manner—well, except Phil, but he was just naturally like that. A scowl from Phil and words of discouragement meant he loved you, enough to point out that you were an idiot.

In any case, Zack was enjoying himself too much and decided it was about time to backtrack. "But hey, Taro, I'm sure Josh is looking for you—"

"Hammy?" Taro perked right up, his grin widening at the idea of talking to one of his closest jock friends. "Agh, good point, I've been wanting to talk to him." He immediately released Jaron, who drew in a large breath of air like he'd been drowning, and began off into the crowd of crazed people, shouting over his shoulder, "I'll talk to you later, Zack!" He grinned at the shorter of the two. "Little brother!"

Zack grinned back his biggest and brightest, waving his arm at him as he left. "I'm holding you to that, Birthday Boy!"

As soon as he was out of sight, Zack became acutely aware of the eyes scalding into the side of his face. Turning to investigate, he found one of the most flat, unamused faces on Jaron he'd ever seen. Zack just beamed at him. "Payback's a bitch, huh?"

Jaron tried to grind his teeth to dust. "How _could_ you—"

"Hey, I got rid of him before it got too bad." Zack fluttered his eyes at him, simpering. "I am a merciful god, yes? But you still had to be punished for your insolence." Zack broke out of character and laughed, throwing his head back. "Don't think because you're my best friend you can get out of that—"

"_Jackass_!" Jaron slapped him in the arm, most likely because he saw Pam do it earlier and knew he could get away with at least that, and then threw him one last scowl before swiveling on his heel and stalking off.

Zack's jaw dropped in mocking before his hand flew out in reaching for him. "Baby, come back! The night's are long and cold without you!"

Jaron yelled over his shoulder just before he disappeared into the kitchen, "I want a divorce! Let your ass freeze!"

Zack just broke out in cackling, falling against the wall from the sheer force of his laughter before just sliding away to the floor.

* * *

><p>Jaron made it his mission to avoid him for the rest of the night, which Zack was perfectly okay with. This wasn't the first fight they'd ever had and it certainly wouldn't be their last so Zack didn't bother himself with worrying too much. He'd try to talk to him one last time before they went home and if he still wouldn't cooperate, he knew he would in the morning. He always woke up guilty for some reason. Zack assessed that mornings were his weak points and had been keeping note of it ever since. Details like that always came in handy.<p>

In the meantime Zack was enjoying himself. Most of Taro's friends were a lot like him—big and kind of brutish looking but good guys overall. Jocks, mainly. Zack hadn't played sports seriously in years but he still enjoyed hearing their stories, and most everyone got along with him. Zack had a reputation of getting along with everyone because he took everything as a joke and had a highly contagious laugh. Nobody liked drama and Zack had a way of diffusing it before the bomb could even think to drop, which came in very handy when he was around at least sixty teenagers who all thought it was their job to start drama. That was the main problem with jocks—they were too prideful and too at the ready to beat someone's face in if they offended them. But Zack had an ego, too, and his trumped theirs because he wasn't even a little insecure about it. He readily agreed with insults and was always handy with a, "But you know you love me."

Pam observed all this closely, biding her time for the right moment to jump in. She said she'd leave him alone, but they both knew it was only because of that grade, so the way she saw it, as long as she didn't bring it up she wasn't really breaking anything. She didn't really know anyone else here—most of these guys were huge and much older than her and she really wasn't comfortable making conversation. At least Zack was her age and not all pumped up with bulgy muscles and looking at her like fresh meat. Plus she was still anxious to get information out of him, whether he knew it or not, especially now that she thought she knew him a little better. He was so easygoing—why did he suddenly turn into an enraged freak when she brought up his grade?

But before she could find the chance to talk to him, the universe exploded before her eyes.

Leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, was the most attractive male specimen she had ever laid eyes on.

Dark golden blond hair falling in light, fluffy tendrils around his oval face, the deepest, richest blue eyes she was sure any mortal had ever witnessed, a nice, even tan to flawless white skin, and a grin that could explode a hundred girls' hearts with just a glance. His physical prowess was obvious but not in overabundance like the rest of these meat heads. He looked impressive, but like he wasn't bragging about it—modest, Pam might say. She was assuming things about him when all he'd done was smile, which was ridiculous but with the way her heart was pulsating she felt she couldn't help it.

Pam immediately had to physically push her jaw back into place for fear she'd drool a small kiddy pool in the middle of the room. "Zeus, why would you send Adonis here now?" She blinked a couple times, knuckling her eyes.

"Having fun imitating a statue?" A laugh came from behind her, resounding in her ears.

Pam blinked again, not bothering to turn around. "Monobrow?"

His smug face came into view at her side and he rolled his eyes. "It's Zack actually, but sure, Ginger."

She felt her mouth twitch before she replied plainly, "Yeah, well, my name's not Ginger, so I guess we're even, _Zack_."

His smirk remained as he stood straightly beside her, his hands behind his back making her all the more wary. "Fair enough."

She became aware of how surprised she was then. He must have become very at ease since their last encounter to approach her like this; he looked totally free of concern. She guessed it was because of her promise but still she was surprised. She found herself asking, "Why are you here? I thought you thought I was Satan's spawn."

Zack snorted almost thunderously, catching her off guard, and he smirked all the more. "I do, but since you're bound by your word for the rest of the night I thought I'd try my luck at a little payback for all the hell you've caused."

Pam eyed him, not liking where this was going and really not liking how cocky he looked. "And how exactly are you planning on doing that?"

Zack continued to smirk at her for a little longer, and just as she was about ready to yell at him to stop looking at her like that he flicked his eyes away. She looked to where he was looking and felt her heart nearly pop again at the sight of Hotty McHotterson still making happy conversation with Taro. She licked her lips without thinking.

She was snapped out of it by the sound of ear-splitting laughter. She snapped her head over to see Zack had thrown his head back and was laughing outright at her. Her face went beet red as she thought of how she must have looked to elicit such a reaction. She slapped him in the arm. "Shut up!"

Her slap woke him up and he glared at her. "Hey now, no touching the merchandise."

"Right, I forgot how fragile they are." She tried her own smirk on him, placing her hands on her hips.

He blinked at her, a tad surprised, before he copied her actions and smirked right back, his easily matching her own. "Not fragile, just _sharp_, and I'd hate for you to get cut, poor little thing."

Pam involuntarily screeched and pushed him hard in the chest, nearly making him smash into the crowd. His arms flew in a panicked circle before his foot flew back and he managed to gain back his balance with a stumble. Dizzily, he looked to see her looking at him with a firm frown and eyes burning with contempt. "I am not poor, little, nor a thing, Monobrow!" she raised her voice, shoving her finger in his face.

Zack looked like he'd had just about enough of this and he slapped her finger away, infuriated. "You do realize you're speaking to a guy who has at least five inches on you and could easily pound you to dust, right?"

Her nostrils flared and she flew back with her arms blocking her upper body, outraged. "_You'd hit a girl_?"

He ground his teeth, his normally light, happy blue eyes going dark as night. "You're not a girl. But no, I wouldn't hit you, male or female, 'cause unlike you, I am not a freaking_ psychopath_!" he burst out dramatically, flailing his arms at her, and scowled. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem is you!" she stated furiously. "Stop laughing at me like that! It's not funny!"

Zack's eyebrow flew up on his forehead, before he smirked again, much to her irritation. "Aw, poor Pammy Wammy is getting all flustered over Hammelstein, huh?"

Pam's eyes widened. "Who?"

Zack laughed, pointing his finger in the direction of the babe magnet. "My brother."

"_Your brother_?" she yelled incredulously, thankful of all the crazy teenagers that made her loud voice sound so much less noticeable. Her eyes flew from Adonis to Zack, Adonis to Zack, casual confidence to smug bravado, oval head to unibrow, perfect physique to gangly tallness. She couldn't believe her eyes. "How the heck did that happen?"

Zack blinked at her, starting to look a bit uninterested, probably due to how long she'd taken processing what he'd said. "Yes, he's my little brother. I'd explain to you how exactly that came to be but I think I'll leave that up to Sex Ed."

"Little?" she questioned with a wide blink, still trying to gain any shred of comprehension and sense out of this information.

Zack blinked at her slowly. "Yes, little, by two years. How is this difficult to grasp? Are you seriously this thick-headed?" His eyes turned fishy. "You're a red head. I thought I was the one that was supposed to be dumb."

"Whoa, whoa, wait…" she waved her hand at him, her eyes shooting off in thought. "If you're his brother, which means you share the same parents, that also means you share the same house, which means you live together…"

Zack snapped his eyes in a baffled blink and did a double take of her, before he opened his mouth to undoubtedly say something very sarcastic when she cut him off by throwing her arms around him. He yelped and stumbled, unwilling to touch her even to keep his balance. She pulled back then, keeping her arms around him, and asked in a flushed hurry, "What's his name—where does he live—is his name Shortman too—what sports does he play—what grade is he in—why aren't you answering me—holy crap, is he single—"

Zack was stricken in horror, his mouth wide open. "What in the name of—_Get off_!" He pushed on her and she quickly unwound her arms from him, hopping back on the ground. Zack quickly went to work with dusting himself off then, a shudder ripping through his body and making him stiffen for a second. "Criminy, you have some serious issues, don't you?"

"You're one to talk." She rolled her eyes, thinking back on his psychotic behavior earlier in the lunch room. She snapped her eyes to his then, wide and earnest as she clasped her hands together. "Now please, his name?"

Zack sighed, not finding this particularly fun anymore as he answered, "His name is Josh but he calls himself Ham for some unholy reason. It's short for Abraham. He won't tell me why he insists on it, though. Everyone calls him it but me."

"Ohhhh," Pam purred, her eyelids falling gracefully half-lidded as her green eyes landed on him across the room, "I know why they call him Ham. It's because he looks good enough to eat." She licked her lips again, purring once more deep in the back of her throat.

Zack twisted his face in revulsion. "Ewww, brother love—and from another man, no less—"

"Hey," Pam shot her eyes at him, frowning as she smacked his arm. "I'm not a man, dork!"

Zack just smirked, suddenly finding this conversation much more enjoyable as he dusted off the sleeve of his arm. "Yeah well I'm not a dork, so I guess we're even again, Pammy."

Pam rolled her eyes. "Right, not a dork, sure—Jackass suits you better." Her eyes went huge as something occurred to her, and she couldn't control the grin that suddenly forced it's way onto her face even if she'd wanted. "Agh, jackass… Zackass… That is so your new name!" She threw her head back in laughter, finding the idea ingeniously hysterical.

Half of Zack's brow extended up at this, somewhat baffled and strangely impressed at the assessment. "Oddly appropriate actually." He shook his head then and threw on a grin, teasing as he leaned down to her, "But seriously, you did hear me when I told you he's like a full two years younger than you right?"

Pam's laughter subsided enough for her to frown a little, and she wiped some tears from her eyes as she looked up at him. "You were serious about that?" She coughed, trying to put on a face that better matched her emotions now; a more assured frown touched her face, a bit disappointed. "That's too bad."

Zack bit his bottom lip with sparkling eyes. "Ha, you sick pedophile."

Pam had to do a double take, she was in so much disbelief that he'd actually said that to her. A harsh gasp ripped into the air not a second later and she grabbed him by the arm, spun him around, and pushed him roughly into the nearest wall. Her voice came as a deadly screech, "I am no such thing!"

Zack blinked furiously as his brain caught up with his situation, his face half-pressed up against the wall. "Gah, what the—" He tensed, anger biting into him as he realized she was pressing him up against a freaking wall, a wall covered in hideous wallpaper no less. He immediately began struggling, enraged. "Get the hell off of me, man-woman!"

Pam found herself smirking amidst her ire and her ego couldn't resist taunting him, "Why don't you make me if you're so freaking fantastic, huh, _Zackass_?"

Her taunting tone rung in his ears like death metal, and before he even knew what he was doing he was yelling back, "Okay, I will!" His body snapped around, startling her off of him, and his hand flew out before she could get completely away and whipped her up against the wall beside where he was and forced his body into her back, crushing her against the wall. His laughter was more smug than usual, he almost felt guilty. "Ha, ha, _ha_! Who's the man now, baby cakes?"

Pam was blinking in a dazed rush. She hardly knew how she got there but she knew she was pressed up against a wall with gentle force. Even when he was physical, he wasn't violent, and she was almost caught more off guard by that than she was that he'd done it in the first place. As her position finished processing with her, she felt herself growl, "Don't ever call me that!"

Zack grinned wickedly into the back of her red hair. "Like you can stop me, Ariel, you're practically microscopic."

Their unpleasant world came crashing down when a panicked voice suddenly came from directly next to them, "What's going on?"

They both looked over to see Ham staring at them with his mouth open and his dazzling blue eyes round.

Pam's face turned six shades of red.

Zack noticed this and smirked devilishly, feeling revenge had just found it's way to him in the most perfect way possible yet again. He let go of her and put his hands up in surrender, allowing her to step back from the wall. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He slapped her on the butt then, making her squeak, and said just loud enough for Ham to hear, "Go get'm girly!" He walked off in a way that was almost obnoxious in it's nonchalance, whistling an upbeat tune.

Pam stared at Ham with her face the deepest shade of red it could go without her just plain passing out from the severe lack of blood running through her veins, utterly mortified.

Ham just looked at her very strangely, wisely deciding to keep silent. This wasn't the first time a girl had gone red in front of him, not by far, but he never knew how to deal with it. This was going to be embarrassing no matter what he did, so he just shut up and decided to let her direct how this was going happen.

But still, she just stared at him, her jaw unhinged and swinging.

It stayed silent.

* * *

><p>Zack watched them stare awkwardly at each other from behind a wall on the other side of the room, snickering to himself. This was going even better than he expected.<p>

"What the heck is up with you?"

Zack startled and whipped his head around to see Phil standing close to him, also seeming to be trying to hide himself from sight. His green eyes were focusing on Ham and Pam across the room with a raised eyebrow before he looked back up at him suspiciously. Zack just grinned and grabbed Phil to him, ignoring his disgusted noise and struggle as he announced to him, "Revenge is what's up with me! The sweetest kind." He breathed deeply. "Enjoy it."

Phil grunted, his face still twisted in displeasure as he tried to push himself away with little success. "Yeah, I know the feeling." He was already silently plotting his revenge on his deplorable older brother for daring to touch him. Of course, everyone plotted revenge against Zack at one point or the other, but no one ever succeeded—Phil was determined to be the first. He growled a little as Zack pressed him up against his side again. "Let go of me, Neanderthal!"

Zack tut tutted him and let him go, grinning at him. "Such a big word."

Phil gave him a dry look, trying to dust the scent of Zack off of him best he could. "Indeed. Now," his eyes went wide and interested as he tucked himself back into the shadows behind the elder, licking his lips in anticipation, "what revenge, what plan, what happened?"

Zack chuckled at his eagerness. Phil and him couldn't bond over much but these types of things were natural to them, and he knew Phil admired his work. Leaning casually against the back of the wall, Zack said confidently, "Just a little girl making the mistake of wandering into the lion's den again. No harm done." Zack wasn't about to recount exactly what she'd done or what she was still determined to do. Doing so would be revealing too much and the last thing he needed was Phil snooping around.

Phil hummed at this, seeming dully satisfied with the assessment, before he shifted his half-lidded green eyes back up to him. Still, he seemed bored as he asked, "And your form of punishment for her was to hook her up with Ham?"

Zack barked out a laugh, one half of his eyebrow raising up as he gazed down at the brunette. "No, her punishment was being humiliated in front of an attractive stranger."

Phil did a double take of him, looking decidedly confused. His voice was a little mechanical, "How is that so bad?"

Zack released a labored breath, still in disbelief at times that he could be related to such a girlaphobic baby. He shot down a ruefully amused glance to him. "Look, I know you're an asexual little weirdo, but you're just going to have to trust me when I tell you…" he kneeled down slightly and patted Phil on the shoulder seriously, "being embarrassed in front of people you like, _sucks_."

Phil was starting to get that crazed, enraged expression he got whenever anyone brought up romance but he took a breath and let it out in a sigh, and the look cleared away to subtle disdain. "You've lost your touch. I'm disappointed."

Zack raised his brow in bemusement. "Jaron was annoying me earlier so I got super pally with Taro in front of him."

Phil's eyes widened at this, before a grin spread across his face. "Now _that_ is good!" He threw his head back in laughter, light brown hair flying back out of his face. Everyone in their family knew how sensitive Jaron was when it came to anything related to his reputation, and under normal circumstances people tended to skirt around the subject like poison. Zack doing something like that right in plain sight of him was a goldmine of hilarity and completely unheard of. "I'm sorry I missed that!" Phil snickered. "You should have taken pictures, had a video made. We'd have made millions off of that alone."

Zack couldn't help but laugh along with him, it was such a rare thing to hear Phil laugh, when suddenly he dropped it all together and his face was flat again. Zack stopped laughing as well and settled for a grin. All good things had to end eventually, he supposed.

Phil's voice rung sardonic as he spoke again, "But I still say this revenge plan is going to backfire. I've been hating romance long enough, I know how it works probably better than you do. I know the signs. This entire situation could be nothing more than a cute story to tell the grandkids in thirty years."

Zack snorted, his grin malicious. "Ah, but that is where you're wrong, baby bro. You've never been in love, it's a complicated emotion. If something begins too rockily, it could define the entire relationship. Besides, he's too young for her, and she knows that, and Ham's used to girls getting weird around him. He wouldn't be interested, _trust me_, especially not in that witch." He tried to hide his grimace.

Phil looked at him with an unreadable expression, his eyebrows furrowed in an almost troubled way. "Right. Never mind that they're chatting it up like old buddies now, or that Chris is nearly two years older than Amanda yet Mom and Dad seem totally enthusiastic about _that_."

"What?" Zack's eyes shot open wide and he whipped around to see that Ham and Pam were indeed talking totally normally now. He nearly choked. Zack considered Phil's words fully then and looked back to him, his eyes wide.

Phil sensed the question in his demeanor and rolled his eyes. His eyes went dark as he stared at him with a steely expression. "I see _everything_, oaf. Don't act surprised." He reached up and grabbed Zack by his head, turning it around to look at Ham and Pam with a gestured hand. "Look at the facts. They both wear red, their names _rhyme_, for Pete's sake, Pam is obviously attracted to him, and you know Ham has a thing for older girls. This is a disaster in the making."

Zack snapped his head back to Phil, causing him to take back his hand as he questioned incredulously, impressed, "You know her name?"

Phil's eyes wandered away almost coyly, his fingers dancing in front of him. His voice was sarcastically cutesy as he trilled, "Oh, _perhaps_—" His eyes practically slapped him in the face when he snapped his look back to him, his eyes wide in awe of his stupidity. "Doi, I know her name, didn't I just say it? I told you, I see everything. It's not like I have anything better to do at this party anyway. All anyone wants to talk about around here is sweat, girls, food, more sweat, more girls, more food, and for a reason I'd really rather not wonder at, baby powder." He tensed up in an odd pose and shuddered, grimacing. "These goobers make you look like a distinguished gentleman."

"Oh-ho, well," Zack shot up to stand taller, posing his hand out as he put on a more worldly, sophisticated face, his lips puffing out, "not even I can argue with that logic, Philly old bean."

Phil's eye twitched as he stared up at him. "Criminy, please don't go there. I beg of you."

"And why not?" Zack bubbled in his best impression of his rich classmate, Rueben Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd, keeping his expression. "I have the money, I have the resources—I can do whatever I wish."

Phil slapped a hand to his face and slid it down the side of his cheek, his eyes on the ceiling. "Oh, God made a serious mistake when he gave you free will." Sighing, Phil jumped up to grab Zack by his long ear and pulled his head down, pointing a firm finger at their brother and his apparent tormenter. "Focus and fix it, numb nuts! There are very few things I'm able to get enjoyment out of in my life and you are not taking this away from me!" He let go of him and pushed him in their direction with as much force as he could muster, though Zack barely budged, much to his irritation. "Go! Go, darn you!"

Zack just sighed lightly, as if this were nothing more than an inconvenience, and leaned over with his hand on Phil's head. "Now see, that's a no can do, Philliam. My work here is done, any and all repercussions will have to be diffused at a later date."

Phil growled almost savagely, giving up on pushing him and instead just trying to keep Zack's weight from crushing him. "Like when?"

Zack smirked down at him, the smirk that still sent wary chills down Phil's spine, much to his chagrin. "Oh, any time will do. We don't even know if we have a problem on our hands yet, though. Best to just let this flow to where it may, and if worse comes to worse, I'll just pull some dirt out on ol' Josheline and everything will go back to normal."

Phil's eyes went their full greenness. "You have dirt on _Ham_?" It was almost too good to be true.

Zack chuckled, examining his nails absentmindedly. "Oh, small things, here and there. But I caught a whiff of something rather juicy earlier today and plan on doing some digging. Soon, Phil, I'll officially have a one up on everyone in and outside of my class, and the world shall be mine." He took in a deep breath, only to cough when the overwhelming scent of birthday candles and sweat invaded his lungs.

Phil raised an eyebrow. "World domination? Seriously? How cliché. I'd have thought better… Although now in hindsight—"

Zack snorted, cutting him off and stood up straight, ruffling Phil's hair before putting his hand to his side. "I only meant it as an expression, don't you worry. World domination is highly overrated. I'd like more of a challenge." He took in a large whiff of the air surrounding them, realizing he did indeed smell birthday candles. He grinned as the meaning of this occurred to him and he shot an excited look down to Phil. "You ready to sing down there, Philly?"

Phil rolled his eyes with a small, exasperated huff of breath, and walked past him to where people were gathering, no longer interested in his older brother's existence. "Please, I'm always ready."

Singing happy birthday to Taro didn't take very long, as he silenced everyone thoroughly when he put his hands up before proceeding to chop the cake to edible sizes with a series of karate chops, laughing as everyone cheered him on and called him crazy. Jaron had walked off muttering after that point, and still refused to meet Zack's eyes. Zack just sighed before jokingly warning Taro that he had better have washed his hands, which he just laughed at. Before long the cake was nothing but crumbs and leftover icing, and it was time for gifts.

Arnold proudly presented him with his shinily wrapped present, seeming confident that he'd like whatever he'd gotten him from all of them. When he'd opened the box, a strange clunky, orange calculator fell out into his hand, and it took him but a moment to realize it was made to look like a basketball. Practical, Zack thought with a wince, but so weird—it was cereal prize worthy. Taro had put on a grateful face though and laughed it off, and Zack vowed to get him something different before the week was up. Despite it all, though, his father continued to grin stupidly with pride at his find, and his mother was left rolling her eyes and palming her forehead in the background.

Everyone dispersed back into mingling after that point, with people congratulating Taro on being seventeen and going off to college soon. Zack had already made his congratulations by this point so he found himself rather bored. Being around all these big, muscular types for too long always made him wary, and having each one call out his name when he passed and nearly knock him over when they slapped him on the back was starting to get to him. He had to keep grabbing his arm to keep it from shaking and he was afraid people might start to notice something was up with him.

He wasn't usually so easily brought back to those memories, but something about meeting Pam today had disturbed him on a deeper level. The red hair, the taunting, the grabby hands and punching and throwing him up against _walls_—and she kept giving him funny looks when he freaked out on her. Jaron, too, had been looking at him funny. Everyone seemed to look at him funny when he got angry, since it was so rare. Heck, he'd look at himself funny too if he could. He wanted to blame them but he couldn't. What reason did he ever have to be angry? He had parents that adored him, brothers he could joke with and a little sister that looked up to him like he was the sun. He had good friends, good grades, amazing family—his life was practically perfect. People would kill to have his life, and he'd been trying desperately to keep that perfect image up ever since he was a kid. He didn't want people to know he had flaws or weaknesses, or that he had a past that may be less than lovely. That was rule number one of being the notorious Zack Shortman—let no one know you're less than the best. Otherwise people start to get ideas.

He stared down into the glinting red liquid in his plastic cup as he sat on the couch of the living room, which had been partially blocked off in favor of the more Japanese qualities of the rest of the house. To Zack, this room was sanctuary. The couch was big and fluffy enough that you practically fell into it when you sat down, and the flat screen TV monstrous compared to the regular sized box one in their living room at home. Zack didn't care for the TV right now, though—that would cause too much of a ruckus, and he loved this room because it was always dark and almost always cut off from the rest of the house when there was something exciting going on. It allowed him time to shut his brain off and just exist, which he desperately needed at the moment.

That girl. He hadn't thought back on the fourth grade in years. He couldn't even remember the last time it had consciously crossed his mind. He'd boarded up all the passageways, painted over it all and put up a nice, _blue_ wallpaper to keep himself and everyone else from ever getting in. Blue was good, blue was calming, blue was sanity. Zack gripped his shirt tighter, gulping down the last of his punch in one, large swig before crushing the cup in his hand. He stared at it, so effortlessly crushed in his fist.

If word ever got out about that grade, everything would crumble. Jaron didn't understand. He couldn't understand. They were best friends, they had no secrets with each other, but that didn't mean _everything_ had to be out in the open. He trusted him with some of his more obvious, human weaknesses, but some things were just better left unsaid. Jaron had asked him once why he put up with his problems when he could, in his words, "be best friends with anyone he wanted," and all Zack could do was snort. Jaron was about as insecure as they came, but Zack didn't "put up" with any of it. He _understood_ it.

Zack blinked out of space when he felt the cup in his hand fall to the floor, and he looked down at it for a while, his mouth open with his unsteady breathing. Briefly the thought crossed his mind that he should probably throw that away and go get something to eat. He doubted his mom would be up to cooking anything tonight, or his dad for that matter.

He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes instead.

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><p><strong>AN:** Yeah... am I nervous about the next installment? Mehbeh. *Poker face* That's when ship gets real. Like really real. But what can I say? I wanted Zack to have a dark past, I have for several chapters now. But don't worry, these next few chapters are just to give the characters background so they're a little more real, so they have to have SOME serious in them. I'll get back to more comedy latar. Ain't no thing but a chicken wing. XP SO READ AND BE HAPPY *Breathes fire*

Now then, in the last chapter I neglected to mention all the awesome crap the fans (OMFG I HAVE FANS FOR MY CRAPPY OC FIC) of this fanfic have done. XD :D I will proclaim you... my kingdom of epic bosses. *Holds scepter importantly with fancy mustache*

**writergirl97**'s been writing awesomeness, as per the us.' :D She's kinda like my partner in crime here, 'cause when I'm not updating, she is. Which is great 'cause some people can get impatient. *Dry look to that part of the kingdom* Not that I can talk, hyuck! But I just love it. ;_; I get excited every time. XD She's also drawn some lovely pictures too! The entire situation is marvelous. XD Thanks, writer! ;_; Go look peeps! GO~

**Panfla**... Panny, Pan, Pan, Peter Pan, has drawn so many pictures. D: I can't even keep up! Idk what I've mentioned or haven't mentioned anymore. XD She has Amanda, Zack, Ham, PAMELLA, Phil—the whole kitten caboodle. XD SO FREAKING CHECK HER OUT 'CAUSE SHE'S AMAZING AND MAKES ME WANT TO HUG FLUFFY CATS AFNKANDLA. Thanks, friendy. :'D

Also, just recently, **metalheadrailfan** did a title card for my fic in traditional HA! lettering. :D It looks amazing! I'm still grinning about it. Feel free to check that out on Deviant as well. That chizz is legit. :D Thanks, man!

Of course all the epics had to be mentioned. Sorry for the monster A/N. XD :D Thanks all!

THE NEXT BIT WILL BE UPDATED WHEN I FEEL IT IS TIME. *Slams scepter against gong*

**_REVIEW!_**

And sterf :B But only if you want, I know this chapter is kinda crap xD You know fillers -_-


	10. Looking Up: Part 3

**A/N: **Yeah, brace yourself for this chapter. I'm not nearly as excited as I should be. I'm kinda nervous about this part and Idk if I like how it turned out at all. XP Ehhhhh... whatever. -_-

In any case, I'm posting two chapters this time around, because I have grown impatient and I want to move on to Philliam's chapter. xD Also I'm going to be posting random chapters in between this chapter once it's finished and Phil's, to try to mix it up a little (I grow so weary of serious chapters nowadays). So here's the low down, the scoop, the dizzle in the hizzle—after these next two parts of the chapter, there is only one left, but... it's not finished. D: *Slaps self* I know, I know. xD But I've been having problems with it. Like, Idk if I want to do this or do that, or if I want to go down this road or that road or if I just want to carpool. I'm all discombobulated and I have an entire page full of notes on the matter. xD So I have a basic mental outline of what I want to write, but I'm very on the fence about one part. I'm hoping posting these two up will help me make some decisions.

Say thank you to the lovely **xxP00h67chu **for being the 90th review! That's what held up the update for so long. xD I'm super excited about all of this! I never would have expected a... a... a RESPONSE to this fic. D: xDD Like at all. I was just doing this chizz for kicks and practice. xD But now I'm only ten reviews away to 100 reviews! ...TO AN OC FIC! *Faints* HOLY GUACAMOLE BATMAN! You guise ;_; THANK YOU. 100 f-ing reviews... I'd squeal for eternity. XD :'D

**~Amazing People~**

**Narcisa Le Fay  
><strong>

**metalheadrailfan  
><strong>

**writergirl97  
><strong>

**starrynights1987  
><strong>

**Nep2uune  
><strong>

**acosta perez jose ramiro  
><strong>

**Panfla  
><strong>

**LovelyPooh67  
><strong>

Thank you guys so much for taking the time! I got a lot of long reviews and I swear I nearly had a heart attack. xD You guys just continue to amaze and mystify me. This part is mostly serious I think, but the next has a lot more antics, and then we draw to a close. Plot bunnies... *Sigh* I hate 'em. They just run everywhere and are impossible to catch and they tempt you with their fluffy little faces. The horror. D:

Hope you enjoy this, next part will be posted very soon. I'll have more important notes at the end of the next part.

**Disclaimer: **I own the Shortman kids, but not "Hey Arnold!" or Taro.

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><p><strong>Looking Up<br>**

**Part 3  
><strong>

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><p>As the school loomed closer, Zack found himself sinking down into his seat, the chilled morning air somehow still managing to bite through his clothes despite the heater being on full blast.<p>

Josh was smiling stupidly across the seat, searching out the window for anyone he knew and swinging his legs. Since Phil was beside him, he kept trying to latch onto his arm and he kept having to bat him off his cast. As a result, Phil was on the verge of tears, but all Zack could think was how he wasn't far off from that point either. Zack reached over with his good arm to ruffle his hair and Phil frowned, trying to bat his hand off. Zack remained resolute, though, and before long Phil stopped fighting and fell silent. Zack took his hand away then, smiling, and Phil begrudgingly smiled back.

Reality came crashing back when the car came to a stop, and his dad turned around to smile brightly at them. He didn't have to say anything to them, this was routine by this point, so Zack just smiled and Josh beamed. Zack got out of the car and walked around to help Josh out best he could with one arm, before they both waved goodbye to Phil and slammed the door shut. Phil's jellybean eyes peeked through the window as they walked up the steps of P.S. 118, before Arnold drove them out of sight to drop him off at the preschool around the corner.

Unbeknownst to them, Zack watched them drive off with dread in his eyes, before Josh excitedly pulled him into the school. His reluctant feet caused him to stumble, and Josh scrambled to keep him up on his feet. Zack smiled gratefully as he gained back his balance, and before long Josh was pulling him along through the halls again.

Since their dad taught at the school, he always had to drop them off earlier than usual so he could make it on time. It didn't take more than ten minutes to drop Phil off, so Zack knew it wouldn't be long before he was rushing through the halls to get his things ready for the school day, but they wouldn't cross paths again until lunch. Zack wondered sometimes how his father could be in the same building with him all day and still not _know_. It made things feel even more helpless than they were, although Zack knew it was his own fault. He was good at hiding things, and so was he.

Zack dropped Josh off in his second grade classroom and kept him company for a little while, before he edged his way out and began his slow trek to his own classroom, down the hall, two lefts and a right, and here he was. He stared at the door handle for a long while, afraid of what he might find on the other side and mentally berating himself for being such a baby.

"Got a problem, Brow?"

Zack's heart kicked into high gear and he slammed himself up against the door, his wide eyes scanning slowly up to meet two smug brown eyes that he swore shone red in the bright lighting of the hallway, nearly matching the thick, blinding red locks of his hair. His chest heaving, he could do nothing but stare.

August Bailey looked down at him like a piece of candy stuck to his shoe, nine years of age and yet a tower compared to Zack's average height and skinny frame. With a girth that made him nearly three times the size of the average fourth grader, people cowered at the sight of him, whether he was looking at them or not. Zack was no exception. He was a preference.

"Something wrong with the itty, bitty baby, hm? Cat got your tongue?" August laughed with all his weight, yet somehow Zack felt like he was the only one who could hear it. He could do nothing but shake his head, already messing up the hair his mother had spent all morning combing out.

August just laughed again at his response, before his eyes zeroed in on the giant cast surrounding his left arm. He smirked at the sight of it. "Wow, I did that, huh? Guess I really don't know my own strength."

Zack looked down at his arm, wrapped so neatly in the carefully applied gauze and held up by a plain blue sling. Somehow it looked much less sturdy now, like it could just be blown off with one, determined gust of wind and thrown into a mangled pile on the floor. Zack gulped and looked back up at August, finally managing to speak with a sheepish smile, "I guess not…"

August smiled down at him, looking pleased, and reached over to touch the cast. Zack twitched but then quickly realized his error and stiffened up. August noticed, though, and his hand snapped to grab the cast in a fist, making Zack's eyes widen. August just smiled. "That's a pretty thick cast. I must have done a real number on ya. You squeal to anyone?"

Zack took in a shaky breath and shook his head rapidly. "No, and no one suspects anything. I told them I fell."

August sneered at that, gripping his arm tighter and eliciting a squeak from him. "That's a weak excuse. You couldn't have come up with anything better?"

Zack tried to keep the stars out of his eyes as he responded, "It's best to keep lies simple… They're more believable that way." He shook, wiggling his arm a little to try to loosen his grip. "Nobody suspects, really. They were more concerned with getting me to the hospital than asking questions."

August leaned down into his face, his eyes slipping nearly shut and leaving only a sliver of the reds of his eyes. "You better keep it that way, short man." He let go of his arm then and put on a smile, looking much too normal for Zack's taste as he patted him on his shoulder. "I'll have to sign that later, Zack, if I might have the honor."

Zack grinned shakily. "It's all yours."

"Good." He smiled one last time, before pushing him out of the way and shoving into the classroom. Zack stumbled before falling onto his face on the floor. He moaned as the pain in his arm hit, and then the pain in his face, but he didn't move. This had been going on for months now, ever since August Bailey's last victim transferred schools and he decided Zack would be a suitable replacement. Zack had never been one to bring attention to himself, so this had shocked him. He was quiet during school hours, he hid behind trashcans to read during recess, and he ate lunch with his dad in his classroom. Kids tended to just ignore him, and he had no problem with that. He figured making friends should be a natural thing, but with his unibrow and rather plain looks and quiet ways during school hours, nobody ever took an interest. That included bullies. Zack didn't care at the time, though, because he had his family, and to him, that was all he needed.

It wasn't until fourth grade rolled around and the teacher started asking kids to come up to read their work that things changed. Within the first week of the new semester Mrs. Holt asked Zack to come up and read his poem. The assignment had been done within ten minutes in class, so Zack had just shrugged and walked up to the front of the room to do so.

He didn't expect much of a response from his reading his poem. Maybe a few bored claps or a polite smile or two, but nothing like what had happened. He didn't expect every kid in the class to stare at him, before bursting into laughter. He didn't expect the name calling or jeering or pointed fingers. He didn't expect the teacher to be in tears or the class bully, August Bailey, to look at him like a jelly donut. He didn't expect to suddenly get pulled into an alley after class and get called a sissy, punk, baby girl, unibrow. He didn't expect his entire world to suddenly get thrown upside down. Suddenly he wasn't staring dreamily out the window during class, now he was ducking down low in his seat and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. Suddenly everyone was a threat and he had to literally run to get away from his teacher's enthusiastic compliments. He hid behind trashcans for the protection and ate lunch in the janitor's closet. He just wanted to disappear.

Life seemed to get dimmer and dimmer as the days passed, and just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. He'd been having to hide black eyes, play off sprained ankles and wrists, and just all around act like things were normal for a while now, but it was starting to get tiresome. He didn't want to go on like this anymore. He felt like a wimp for not being able to stand up for himself, but he felt like he didn't have a choice. He wasn't violent. What could he do but take it like a man and suck it up?

He didn't think there would be a time in his life when a genuine smile from a stranger would mean the world, but now it was everything. Because not only did no one have an interest in him now, they just straight up avoided him, scrambled away from him like he was a wild animal. Kids had forgotten about the poetry incident, his five minutes of infamy were long up, but now no one wanted to be anywhere near "August's boy." No one ever had. He was starting to regret ignoring August's last victim. He understood him now, and he almost wished he'd had his phone number so he could call him up just to tell him that, but who was he kidding? He didn't even know his name. All he could remember were the vacant eyes that were slowly starting to become his own.

Lying on the floor now, Zack was furious with himself. If August was going to start breaking things, someone was eventually going to notice, and that horrified Zack now. He couldn't stand the idea of seeing his mother's terrified eyes or his father's panic-stricken face again. He'd heard his mom's heavy breathing as she talked to his dad when the nurses were taking him away; "Oh, Arnold, we're horrible parents, we're the worst parents that ever existed! We're in a _hospital_! I'm never letting him out of the house again! I'm going to strap him to a chair in the living room, duct tape a bunch of pillows to his head, and never let him out of my sight again!" He'd expected his dad to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that, but instead he'd readily agreed. It had felt like someone ripped his stomach open and plunged a hand in. They shouldn't have felt like that, they were the best parents any kid could ask for. How could they have thought for a even second they weren't? It wasn't their fault this was happening to him. He felt horrible for being bitter at them before now. He'd thought because they weren't making an effort to fix the problem that they didn't care, but that wasn't true at all. They just didn't _know_. He knew that now, and it was ripping him in two.

The entire situation was. He didn't feel like himself. He felt wrong and different and just… odd. Especially now with his nose crushed up against the floor, the scent of floor wax nearly choking him. If he didn't think his parents would freak out, he'd just run away. That would solve everything, wouldn't it? But no, his parents would inevitably spaz out, his mother would be in hysterics and his father ringing in the cavalry. He'd be lucky if he even managed to exit the neighborhood before he was found, and inevitably ended up in the hospital again for whatever excuse they could manage. They'd wait in the lobby for hours as they had every test imaginable done on him to make sure he was one hundred percent okay, stick as many needles and vaccines as they could get away with in him, perhaps a few experimental even, and then his dad would come in to give him a stern talking to as he tried to reel in his emotions, again. At the very least maybe he'd get super powers out of it for the experimental tests, though. That would solve his problems all right. The thought depressed him, to think he'd need to have laser vision to be able to do anything. He was screwed.

Something flashed in his mind then, something he hadn't thought of in years before yesterday, and against all odds, he found a smile curving his lips without his even trying to put it there.

Shakily sitting up on the floor, his eyes rose to the ceiling, and his smile grew as the fluorescent light above him twinkled at him. It was unexpected, and maybe he was seeing things, but his spirits lifted all the same and he found he couldn't care less if he'd lost his mind or not.

He spoke quietly to himself, his voice a bit hoarse, "When life gets you down, wearing a frown, don't look away, look up…" He sighed.

He reached a blind hand up to smooth out his hair then before standing up from the floor on unwilling limbs. With his free hand he dusted off his cast as best he could before puffing up his chest, trying to look more confident. In the end he deflated, though, and he chuckled, the first laugh he'd managed in hours. He wondered why he didn't laugh more in public. Maybe then kids wouldn't be so standoffish.

He walked into the classroom shortly after deciding he would try to laugh more often, making no eye contact whatsoever with August, and settled into his usual seat by the window.

Today, things would change.

He just hoped the change would be for the better.

* * *

><p>Zack woke up with a snort, gulping back a small pocket of saliva that had built up in his mouth. Sitting up, he coughed, beating his chest. "Agh, lovely. Just lovely." He shook his head. Chuckling, he sat there dumbly for a little while with a dazed smile, still too sleep-hazed to do anything else.<p>

Before too long, he finally noticed there was a weight on his head that wasn't usually there. Confused, he reached up to touch at his hair, only to have his hand come in contact with a rough fabric of some kind. "What the…" He pulled the baseball hat off of his head and stared at it, almost offended of its existence. "Where the heck did this come from? I don't wear hats!" He threw the hat across the room carelessly, sure someone just put it on him to annoy him in his sleep.

"But who…" he mumbled, the room scattering before his eyes in the darkness. Blinking, he reached up to rub at his eyes and stood up. He knew who, of course he knew who. "Stinking Jaron, thinks he's so funny," he grumbled to himself.

As Zack exited out of the room, Arnold slunk out of the shadows and sighed, bending down to pick up the hat from the floor. Despite the failure, he couldn't help but chuckle as he stared down at the blue baseball cap. "You just wait, Zack, I'm wearing you down."

When Zack entered the living room, he found a considerably smaller group of people than the one he'd left earlier. It was down to the close friends and family portion of the night, and Zack knew it wouldn't be much longer before they'd have to go home. Zack was relieved at this realization, and would have loved a chair to sink into if there were one, which of course there wasn't. Why the Japanese insisted on sitting on the floor was beyond Zack but he'd have sat down in an electric chair by this point he was so tired. He sauntered his way to the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator to steal away the sushi Taro gave him permission to, only to find it was all gone save for one piece sat a little too conspicuously on a plate. Grunting, he pulled the plate out and awkwardly sat down in the miserable excuse for a seat on the floor, his long legs awkwardly curving up under him, which proved to be hissingly uncomfortable. Zack did his best to ignore the discomfort though as he sat the plate down on the miniature table and grabbed the sushi up. Amidst his chewing Zack noticed a plain white note had been hidden underneath.

He snatched it up and read it silently to himself. _Traders don't get sushi._

There was some sloppily scripted Japanese writing after that, which Zack was able to loosely translate to "Screw you," along with a few other words he wasn't even going to _think_. Overall Zack got a kick out of it, and he lifted the small scrap of paper up and made a show of slowly ripping it to shreds, just in case anyone was watching. He threw it in the air like confetti and stood, wandering casually over to search through the cabinets. He knew how Jaron's mind worked—everyone always ended up trying to beat him at his game sooner or later, and Jaron had made enough attempts by this point that Zack knew all his tricks. He'd expected him to go crawling to him with an apology, and then he'd just whip out the sushi from nowhere like magic and happy ending music would play and then roll credits. But Zack wasn't about to offer an apology over something he'd well deserved. The way he saw it, they were even, and his attempts at gaining the upper hand were useless.

Sliding the delicate china out of harm's way, Zack reached deep to the left in the cabinet and retrieved a small bag of sushi already neatly put away in a wooden box. It was a hiding place Zack knew Jaron loved to put potato chips and stuff of the sort in, and where Zack used to like to steal snacks from all the time when they were kids. Jaron would probably go out of his mind if he knew he'd known all this time.

And just as he'd suspected, that was exactly what happened.

Jaron came bursting seemingly out of nowhere into the room, his arms flailing and contacts replaced in favor of some more comfortable golden eyeglasses. He looked livid. "How did you know?" he yelled, taking a step forward towards him with his arms set like he was ready to throttle him.

Zack turned around calmly and smiled at him. _Smiled at him_. "I think I may have told you once or twice that I know everything. That was a confession, not me bragging."

"How could you—" Jaron sputtered, his eye twitching. Shaking his head then, he growled like a bulldog, deep in the back of his throat with his brown eyes raging. "That is my most well-guarded secret! No one knows about it, I never talk about it, and I always check three times to make sure nobody's around before I get anything out of it! _How did you find out_?"

Zack blinked at him a bit dully, still exhausted, and just continued to smile his wan smile at him. "For something that's supposed to be your most well-guarded secret, you tend to yell very loudly about it." Chuckling quietly, he shrugged. "I was just hungry one day and went snooping. It's not _that_ great a hiding place. Clever, but obvious. Although it is the most obvious hiding places people tend to overlook the most, isn't it—"

"Stop with your mind games!" Jaron shouted, flittering his hand in his face and making Zack feel a bit dizzy. "First you betray me to my arch-nemesis then you steal the only good thing I have to myself? Dude, _uncool_!"

Zack pursed his lips to keep from grinning. "You make me sound like some kind of diabolical villain."

"Oh, well," Jaron snorted, flicking his head to the right and rolling his eyes, "maybe that's because _you are_?"

"Hardly," Zack chuckled, carefully wrapping the bag handle around his wrist to ensure he wouldn't drop it.

There was a long moment of silence where Zack messed around with the bag and Jaron stared at him expectantly. Before long, Jaron got fed up and drew out angrily, "Hello?"

Zack looked up at him with innocent curiosity. It made Jaron feel like ripping his own teeth out and smashing them with a hammer. They were just going to be reduced to nubs anyhow with his best friend being Zack.

His voice came out even more impatient than he was, "Aren't you going to apologize already? For, you know, humiliating me?"

Zack looked at him levelly. "Aren't you going to apologize for inviting the devil over to a party you knew I'd have to come to?"

Jaron's jaw dropped. "Oh come on, that's different—"

"How?" Zack grit his teeth, a hardness entering his tone from the memories of earlier this evening. That girl was going to be the death of him, very possibly literally, and Jaron had completely disregarded it. She was like the black plague, relentless and determined to destroy no matter the circumstance. Jaron didn't understand but he shouldn't have had to—his discontent towards her had been more than obvious after the fit he'd been unable to resist throwing in the cafeteria. But he'd ignored all of that and invited her for kicks and a possible phone number. If that wasn't betrayal, he didn't know what was.

Apparently he'd said all this out loud without his knowing because Jaron looked furious. "_I_ betrayed _you_ for kicks? Zack, you betray people all the time, every day, just for laughs, and then play it off like it's nothing! You're a complete moral cheat! And you get away with it! Why is it so wrong if I do it for a change? The way you freaked out before was funny! Sue me for thinking it, but dude, you completely lost your mind! That was a complete overreaction, and so is your reaction now." Huffing then, he seemed to hesitate before adding, "And for the record, Pam's not a devil. You'd know that if you stopped flipping your lid and just listened to what she has to say."

Zack inhaled sharply, stunned.

Jaron stared at him hard with his brow and lips stressed, before sighing harshly. "Dude, all she did was ask you a question about a measly little grade. Why can't you just answer her? What is your problem?"

Zack stared at him. Words kept coming to mind to say but he couldn't force them out of his throat, wasn't even sure if he wanted to, they were pathetic attempts at an argument, plus it had just become obvious to Zack that Jaron had been talking to Pam earlier while he was asleep. She'd managed to turn him somehow, and any attempts Zack might make to turn him back now would be useless. For the first time in a long time, Zack felt small. He couldn't answer her questions, and he couldn't answer Jaron's, and he couldn't explain why. He had nothing to say.

Jaron glared at him for his silence. "Fine, say nothing, but the fact remains. I'm sorry if I committed some sort of horrible sin by inviting a perfectly friendly girl over, but you _know_ how I feel about Taro. You're supposed to help me out of situations like that, not throw me into them."

Zack's lips still refused to move, and his feet felt cemented to the spot. Despite everything, for all the inner turmoil he'd found himself in thanks to that girl and mixed emotions regarding his best friend, he couldn't deny that Jaron had a point. He suddenly felt terrible. His face was effortlessly calculated to hide this fact, though, and all he could do was stand there, trying to figure a way out.

Jaron's eyes stayed hard on him for a few more moments, before his expression softened as it occurred to him he'd managed to make Zachary Shortman speechless, the guy who always had something witty to say, some sort of ace up his sleeve or great bomb to drop; the guy who was currently staring at him with not a clue as to how to respond. Jaron could brag and laugh in his face for finally getting him on _something_, but instead he just reached up to pat him on the shoulder and smiled. "Oh, whatever, dude. I forgive you for it. What are best friends for anyway?"

Even through his carefully crafted mask of indifference, Zack couldn't control his relieved smile. To think this was the guy who was constantly questioning their friendship. Zack couldn't ask for a better friend. He smiled at him gratefully, a hint of apology in his eyes that refused to make it out of his mouth.

Jaron gave him a beaming grin, before he suddenly snatched the bag out of Zack's hand, already racing across the kitchen. "But you still don't get any sushi!" Because of the bag handle's tightly looped hold around Zack's wrist, he ended up pulling Zack along with him to the middle of the room, the two of them stumbling before Jaron stopped and snapped around in surprise.

Zack's jaw unhinged in a split second of shock before a smug smirk ripped across his face and he puffed out his chest. "Ha, nice try, buddy, but better luck next—Whoa!" As he'd been talking, Jaron's mind had been fast at work on calculating exactly how to unloop the handle from him, and with a shockingly crafty movement, the bag was neatly tugged free of Zack's wrist and Jaron was laughing maniacally up the hall.

Zack's jaw dropped again and he froze, before his brain kicked into gear and he tore up the kitchen running. "Dude, _uncool_!"

Just as he turned the corner to race up the hall after his hooligan of a best friend, stars burst from nowhere in front of his eyes and the twittering of birds filled his ears. Stumbling backward, he rubbed his eyes and shook his head to try to clear the throbbing, before opening them to see what he'd slammed into.

Seeing nothing, his eyes frantically looked around the expanse of the hall before a flash of red caught his eye and he swiveled his gaze down. He instantly regretted it.

There on the floor, were female, green eyes the size of saucers blinking up at him, like two otherworldly UFOs come to abduct him and probe his mind of it's secrets. Every playful and overjoyed thought he'd been having instantly burst into flames.

His eyes ripped off of Pam to see Jaron's head poking out from his room down the hall, smirking his best imitation of his smirk back at him. Oh, so he'd planned this then. Well played. Zack's eyes narrowed into a death glare and Jaron's head snapped into his room. Wise boy. He couldn't postpone his death for much longer, though. Nobody screwed with Zack—not even his best friend.

He was snapped out of his vengeful thoughts by Pam, who currently had her UFOs narrowed at him, "Well are you going to help me up or not, Godzilla? I don't know what the air's like up there, but it's really stuffy down here—" he interrupted her irritating speech when he snatched her hand almost off of her wrist to pull her up, causing her eyes to shoot open wide, "_Ah_!" Pam wobbled on her feet as his hand retreated, almost confused of her whereabouts now.

Zack just sniffed at her, not feeling particularly up to dealing with her right now. He'd won their last roundabout easy enough and even gotten a laugh out of it, but now he was exhausted, his best friend had just guilted him into a trap, and he was _not happy_. He didn't know what time it was, but he wasn't willing to take the chance of it being midnight or anywhere near midnight right now—she might try to make that an excuse to start badgering him again. Curtly, he replied, "You're welcome," before looking for the nearest exit.

Pam gained her bearings fast enough and quickly put her arms up in the doorway, blocking his way with a firm look. "Hey, wait a minute, I have a bone to pick with you—"

"Dogs often do," Zack said, his eyes distractedly trying to figure out how to get around her without touching her.

Pam gaped at his audacity. "Are you kidding me? Is this all you do? Take cheap shots at someone whose only intention from the very beginning was to talk to you?" Her eyes shot up in a glare, and she growled. "I'm getting really sick of you—"

"Good!" Zack chirped grinnily, raising his arms in a shrug. "Because the feeling is mutual."

"Oh, really? I had no clue," she said dryly.

Finally giving up on getting away for now, Zack huffed. "What are you even still doing here? Shouldn't you have gone home by now?"

Pam shrugged. "I like free food." Snorting then, she glowered, "But I don't like unibrowed crybabies embarrassing me in front of hot guys!"

Despite himself, Zack smirked. "Oh, come on, you seemed to get along just fine after I left."

Pam shook, her face coloring a bright shade of pink. "He gave up on me saying anything and told me I should probably splash some cold water on my face, so I asked him where the bathroom was, and he told me, but I got confused and it just…" She took in a shallow breath before glaring at him clearly trying not to laugh. "Shut up! This is all your fault!"

Zack sniggered, before smirking through his strained face and standing higher. "Oh, I know very well. I take full responsibility." He played with the collar of his shirt, feeling rather cocky with himself and looking it too. "One of my better works."

Pam looked up at him through her eyebrows, her expression totally flat and disbelieving. "How is this even possible," she muttered to herself, before poking him in his chest with a small scowl. "You've got a big, gaudy unibrow and the ego to match! That was uncalled for! I don't understand why you can't just tell me—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Zack wagged his finger at her, grinning darkly, "for the entire night, you said you wouldn't bring it up. And for the record," he licked his thumb and dragged it across his eyebrow, pompously remarking, "the ladies love the brow. You would know that if you were a girl."

Pam glared at him, before an exaggerated sigh fell from her lips and she shook her head sadly. "Ah, for the sake of your ego, I wish that were true. But alas, I'm quite female, and the unibrowed look is _so_ 90s. I prefer the manly type, not the cross-dressing, petite type."

Zack's amused look turned sour. "Sticking two waterballoons down your shirt doesn't make you a girl. If anyone's the crossdresser, it's you." His eyes took in her baggy clothing and messy hair then, and his tone went a bit dry, "Although you're doing a terrible job of it."

She huffed out a breath and shot up on her tiptoes to grin in his face, her eyes narrowed. "Do you want I should prove it?"

Zack's jaw dropped for a split second, before a broad smirk spread over his face. Never a good sign, not that Pam cared a lick. "Normally I'd say yes, but I know you'd just be picturing me as Josh the entire time." He turned away from her like he couldn't even look at her right now, and said in a voice exaggerated enough for a soap opera, his hands rubbing up and down his upper arms, "And I don't like being used."

A hand smacked him across his arm and Zack snapped his head to her, outraged. Just as her hand was moving away he snatched it up and held it high above her head, scowling. "Stop. Hitting. Me," he stressed, his arm shaking.

Pam stared in surprise at her arm suspended above her, and instantly became annoyed as she struggled to get out of his grip. "Oh please, like you can do a thing about it, Brow. You call this anything? I've seen worse." Huffing at her failed attempts at freedom, she pushed a few tendrils of red hair out of her face and glared at him. "Seriously, what is your problem with me? I saw how you were with everyone earlier. You weren't being a doofus to any of them. I have done nothing to provoke this, yet you've been a complete jerk to me ever since we met." He let go of her wrist then and she shot it back down to herself, rubbing at where he'd held her. Taking this as a good sign, she asked, honestly wanting to know, "What did I do?"

Zack stared at her blankly.

After a few silent moments, he pushed past her down the hall. "Nothing."

Pam was too tired to argue at this point, so she just watched him go into one of the rooms and shut the door. Sighing, she concluded he was a lost cause and yawned. It was about time she went home anyway.

After all, there was always tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Gerald shook his head in rueful disbelief, feeling his towering hair sway as he did so. "Mmm, mmm, mmm. It's been two years but I still can't believe Timberly married Chocolate Boy."<p>

Arnold, standing steadily beside him with a cup of water in hand, just yawned and laughed. "I don't know, it's kind of obvious if you think about it. They'd been friends for years. That whole fling he had with the Campfire Lass in seventh grade threw off a lot of people, though."

Gerald snapped his fingers at him into a pointer. "No, now that was an obvious match! And one I completely saw coming. I was shocked when they broke up."

"But he only liked her for her _chocolate_," Helga guffawed, hanging off of Arnold's arm.

Arnold grinned at her, clearly not getting her double meaning. "Very true." Looking back to Gerald then, he swished the water around in his cup. "But I still think it's sweet how they ended up together…" He coughed, "No pun intended." Helga smirked at him and he purposely avoided her look.

Gerald unleashed a hot breath from his nose, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. "Man, I thought you had him off of chocolate by that point? Wasn't he on some kind of sick radish kick then?"

Helga shook her head. "I think it was turnips."

Arnold smiled at her, chuckling a little. "No, it was radishes…" he blinked, his eyes losing focus, "I think." Shaking his head, he went on to explain, "But I did have him off of chocolate for a while, but he had a breakdown when his nanny came to visit. Remember? I thought he was finally going to gain closure but instead he just lost it again when she had to leave."

Gerald hummed under his breath, his lips pursed. "Ah, yeah. That's a shame. Still, the kid's incapable of not overdoing it with something. Radishes or chocolate or even turnips, that boy doesn't know when to quit. And Tim's a horrible influence—she's even more sweet obsessed than he is, and I didn't think that was possible."

Helga laughed at this, coming out of Arnold's arm a little to step forward with a smirk. "Hey, maybe that's not a bad thing. She eats all the chocolate before he ever gets any. Girls have a longer lifespan anyway, if she eats all the candy away from him, maybe they'll end up dying around the same time."

Gerald gave her an incredulous look, before putting on a girly look and fluttering what little eyelashes he had. "Ohhh, how romantic." He snorted.

Helga snorted back. "Whatever keeps the romance alive, don't question it. I mean, Arnold and I—"

"Up, up, up!" Gerald held up a hand, twisting his face. "I do _not_ need to know. In any case, though, that's not really their system. We ended up only having one piece of cake left so they had to split it in half, and they didn't even argue. Something tells me they've been doing that for a while now. So in a way, they're kind of keeping each other from dying of diabetes. Too soon, anyway."

Helga shrugged. "Depends on how much sugar they split a day, and something tells me it's a lot. We'll outlive them."

Arnold scrunched up his nose. "Cute. I just love our conversations."

Air burst from Gerald's nose in a silent laugh. "I always get a kick out of 'em."

"They'd be better with Pheebs," Helga couldn't help adding, her eyes averted. "She'd know exactly what amount."

Gerald looked like he wanted to agree but instead he just sighed and wagged his finger at her. "Ah, ah, no hinting, she needs her rest. She's got an early morning tomorrow, and she already had to throw this party for Taro and bake the cake and everything. No one is disturbing her. Not on my watch."

Helga took a step out of Arnold's arm and gave Gerald a nasty look. "She had to bake that enormous cake, all by herself, when she had _work tomorrow_?"

Gerald looked surprised for a moment, before he scowled at her. "She insisted! I told her she shouldn't but with Taro going off to college in less than a week, she really wanted to make his birthday special. These kids are growing up way too quick—Kori was off to college before she was even fifteen! I still can't get over it." He shook his head to the ceiling. "So we had an agreement—she made the food, I decorated the place."

Helga hummed lowly as her eyes inspected the room, still scattered with some random teens here and there that had yet to leave with party streamers and lanterns abound. She looked back to Gerald then and receded, grabbing Arnold's arm to wound it around herself again. "Okay, fine, just wanted to make sure." Suddenly she was out of Arnold's arm again and was glaring daggers into Gerald's eyes, her teeth bared. "Because I don't give a rat's ass how long you've been married now, my threat on your wedding day remains, you skyscraper-haired bozo. If you ever do _anything_ to hurt her—"

Gerald gaped at her before waving his arms at her to get her to back away, which she did, thank God. Gerald huffed at her, his shoulders tensing. "I would never hurt Phoebe!"

"Again," Helga corrected, her eyes sharp.

Gerald's face flashed with hurt. "Again. We both worked hard on the party, she just has work. Phoebe deserves her rest."

Helga held no sympathy for him, though, and Gerald knew that she never would. Gerald and Phoebe had been dating and liking each other long before Arnold and Helga had ever realized their love, but things were always simpler in elementary. There were kids laughing and joking around, but hardly any teasing or hateful judgment. Once High School rolled around things changed for the worse, and Gerald started drifting away from Phoebe out of embarrassment. He was going into sports clubs and getting all sorts of attention from the popular crowd, and her head was always stuck in textbooks and she was the head of the Science and Math Clubs. Being with her made him look ridiculous and he got nervous because of it, so one day he broke up with her, awkwardly in a deserted hallway before walking off and leaving her paralyzed. She'd ended up bawling in the broom closet with Helga afterwards—not that Gerald had ever seen, too busy yucking it up with the jocks. It had taken a lot of begging from Phoebe to keep Helga from ripping off some very vital parts of him for hurting her best friend.

It had been after Arnold had moved so Gerald had no voice of reason to tell him what he'd done wrong. Their break up had lasted two months before he finally couldn't take it anymore and went to her. It had taken a lot but she'd forgiven him after a while, and Gerald flipped off the popular crowd for good and told them calling the most beautiful girl in Hillwood a nerd was "uncool." They'd been together ever since, but though Phoebe had forgiven him, Helga wasn't so at the ready to. Phoebe's heartbroken face plagued her so she was always quick to make sure Gerald never did anything stupid like that ever again. Gerald couldn't blame her for it but he'd wished she'd stop over time and trust him. They were almost in their forties now and she was still holding a grudge. Arnold always said Helga was stubborn—Gerald got that and he knew she was just being a good friend but… damn.

Despite this, though, something like approval seemed to flash in Helga's eyes before she took a step back and put Arnold's arm around her again, leaning contentedly into his side and holding back a yawn. "Good boy." Arnold gave her a soft smile, a bit amused with her antics.

Gerald sighed and rolled his eyes a little, and then was instantly thankful that Helga hadn't noticed he'd done that. Helga was getting more temperamental which meant she was growing exhausted, and he didn't want to be anymore on the receiving end of that for tonight. Coughing, he asked the couple, "You guys look really tired. You thinking 'bout heading out soon?"

Arnold's exhausted brain took a bit longer than usual to process this question, but when it did, he lifted his eyes from Helga to raise an amused eyebrow at his best friend. "Eager to get rid of us, I take it?"

Gerald waved his arm at him, shaking his head. "Not at all! You are by far my favorite lunatics. But everyone _is_ tired…" he hinted in jest, raising his thick eyebrows high on his forehead.

Arnold laughed gently, too tired to do anything more, and just nodded his assent. "Okay, we really should get going anyway. I found Zack passed out on the couch earlier and I think Phil hoarded himself away in the bathroom. The only one with any energy still is Amanda." He raised a brow in Amanda's direction over by the food table, where she was currently shoving a cupcake the size of his fist into her mouth and giggling up a storm. He wasn't sure where Amanda had gotten such an enthusiasm for sweets—he'd always loved them as a kid, just like anyone else, but he'd never gone completely bonkers over the idea of a cookie, and Helga said she never had either. She'd mentioned once that Olga had always had a penchant for sweets when she was younger, and assured him she'd grow out of it, but Arnold wasn't so sure. He was starting to think he might want to limit her babysitting time over at Timberly and Jason's house.

He was snapped out of his tired musings by Gerald's laugh. "All right, man. Good luck with her." He went forward to give them both a warm hug, before pulling back and grabbing Arnold's hand and shaking it firmly. "Take it easy."

"I always try," Arnold said a tad dryly, before showing his smile.

Gerald patted Helga on the shoulder then, leaning down to smirk at her. "Being taller than you will never get old."

Helga scoffed, slapping his hand away from her. "Being able to beat the shit out of a guy twice my size will never get old." She shot him a look that could kill an army.

Gerald backed away slowly, never one to get on Helga's bad side. "_Okay_. Great way to end the evening." He smiled at them kindly. "Do you want me to go get Phil?"

Arnold laughed, and let go of Helga to head off in the direction of the bathroom. "Nah, it's okay, I won't subject you to his temper. I'll go get him."

Helga smiled at him as he left, waving her hand as she called, "And I'll go round up Zack and Ham! Meet you at the front in five!"

Zack suddenly appeared out of nowhere beside her. "You rang?"

Helga screamed, jumping ten feet in the air and ending up in Zack's arms, breathing heavily. Zack blinked in shock, his jaw falling slack. After a few moments, his brain caught up with the event and a grin sprang across his face. "Criminy, _Mom_! And people say I overreact!" He burst into wild cackling, hugging his mom to him.

Helga blinked rapidly, until her panicked mind realized what was going on and her face fell dead, as well as her tone. "How does this make any sense?" She shook her head. "It must be the Arnold in you." She pushed out of his arms and scowled, waving her arms at him furiously. "If I've told you once, I've told you a billion times! Don't sneak up on me! You're lucky I didn't punch you out!"

"Oooh," Zack grimaced. "Getting knocked out by your own mom—not good." He laughed at her, before a yawn suddenly broke through his enthusiasm in the joke and his shoulders fell. "Okay, yeah, seriously, let's go home. The last thing I need right now is to collapse to the floor." He looked around himself. "The floor that's in a desperate need of a waxing." He yawned again, his eyes fogging over.

Helga's face softened and she rubbed his back in a motherly gesture, smiling at him sympathetically. "All right, Zacky. You know where Ham is?"

"Josh?" Zack blinked. "Oh, I saw him go home with that girl."

Helga's face flashed murderously. "_What girl_?"

Zack's serious face suddenly broke into a grin. "Bad joke, sorry."

Helga growled at him, her hand repelling away from him. "_Do not_ kid about my kid, kid!"

Gerald interjected suddenly, startling them as he stepped forward. "If you guys need any help finding Ham, I could—"

"Oh, did you say Ham?" a random teenager suddenly came up to them, his voice abnormally deep and face covered with patchy, brown facial hair, with breath that was so strong with the stench of fish they could smell it even from a distance. Helga couldn't help but grimace at the sight of him. He either didn't notice or didn't care, because he went on, "Like, I saw him head up the hall like, maybe twenty minutes ago? He's probably just in one of the other rooms."

"So informative," Helga praised sardonically, her eyes barely open before they narrowed and she went pounding up the hall, no doubt anxious to get home and crash. Her head suddenly rammed into something hard, before her body slammed into it as well and she went propelling backwards. This wasn't what she meant by crash.

A hand shot out to grab her arm and pulled her upright with ease, and her eyes came into focus a second later to see Arnold smiling at her. "Sorry, Helga."

Helga waved him off distractedly, continuing instantly on her consumption of the hall. "No harm done, love."

Arnold proceeded out of the hallway to see Zack leaning against the wall half-asleep and Gerald nowhere in sight. Standing next to his eldest, he nudged him with his foot, amused. "Zack, you can't fall asleep on the wall. Didn't you get a nap?"

Zack looked up at him almost drearily, rubbing his eyes. "Agh, getting a little bit of sleep only makes me want more sleep." Blinking his eyes several times, he tried to bring his attention more to reality and ended up having his eyes assaulted by madness. Suddenly wide awake, his face nearly split in two from the sheer force of his jaw dropping. "What the—"

Arnold laughed at him quickly, before shushing him as he rocked Phil gently in his arms. Phil just snored in response, flicking at his nose to clear an itch.

Zack blinked very slowly. He had never seen such a sight before. If Phil was awake, he'd be throwing a huge fit and crumbling mountains with stamping feet. He hated being touched, let alone _held_. Zack could only stare for a few seconds more, before he snapped up straight and grasped at his head, his shaggy hair bursting between his fingertips. "I know nothing of this world!"

Arnold sucked in a breath through his teeth and shushed him quickly, holding Phil absolutely still. Luckily, Phil was in a deep enough sleep that he didn't react. After a tense second or two hundred, Arnold released the breath in a sigh. His face snapped in a glare. "_Please_. I found him asleep in the bathtub, and I'd like to keep it that way. It's been a tiring enough night."

Zack grinned sheepishly, his face flushing. "Sorry." He clamped a hand over his mouth and leaned against the wall then, clenching his eyes almost painfully shut. He just tried to keep his laughter silent. He wished he had a camera. His eyes popped open suddenly, and his hand was in his pocket before he could even think to put it there. He pulled out his cell phone and instantly began snapping pictures, doing all sorts of odd poses as he did so. He spoke in a hushed tone, grinning, "Oh, yeah, work it, Dad—this is so going in Vogue. Fabulous!"

Arnold rolled his eyes.

"All right, losers, let's get the flipping hell out of here!" Helga's voice boomed as she made her unexpected entrance, nearly dragging Ham by his shirt as she flew none-too-gracefully across the room to the door. She didn't notice Arnold holding Phil though, unfortunately, and he woke with a startled yelp and ended up practically smashing his father's nose into the back of his skull when his arms flew up. Arms flailing and face terrified, he shoved out of Arnold's arms on instinct and slammed into the floor. The event left Arnold rubbing his nose and Phil groaning on the floor, rubbing his back.

Zack brought the camera away from his face with a grin that could put the moon to shame. "_Holy crap_, I got _all_ of that!" Laughter poured out of him in gallons as he looked through all the pictures he'd gotten. "I could make a flip book! Ohhhh, I'm going to make posters and hang them up all over his school! This is absolute comedy _gold_!" He chortled at one of the pictures, slapping his forehead. "Oh, geez, his face!"

Phil could hardly come to grips with the fact he was conscious, let alone the meaning of Zack's words. He blinked up at him wildly, his mouth open and hair completely covering one half of his face. "What—What—What—" His face turned red and he snapped his head to the rest of his family. "What the heck is the idiot going on about now?"

Zack just chuckled, still too enthused with the pictures of him on his phone to look at the actual him. He turned away, still browsing through his phone. "Oh, certain doom, Philly, just certain doom."

Phil just gaped at him stupidly, brain half dead and all discombobulated from his fall.

Helga impatiently grabbed Zack by his ear and pulled him over next to her and a dazed Ham, practically breathing fire, "Enough games, Zachary! I want to get the hell out of here, and I want to do it _now_—"

Taro suddenly came running at them, waving his arm and grinning. "Hey, you guys!"

Helga slapped her forehead, breathing sarcastically, "Oh, of course. Of course he'd show up now, what other time would be more perfect—"

"Zack!" Taro screeched to a halt and lifted the younger teen up off the floor in a crushing hug, making him squeak, before he let him back down on the floor and slapped him on the back, nearly toppling him over. "Thanks for coming!"

Zack wheezed slightly, rubbing the back of his head as he forced a tired grin onto his face for his long-time friend. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world." Blinking, he put a hand up with a devilish smirk, "Now the universe, however—"

Taro just rolled his eyes and interrupted him quick, "Whatever you say, Zack. Just shut up. Consider that my birthday present."

Zack's smirk increased and he promptly threw the lock to his mouth over his shoulder before folding his hands behind his back.

Taro just gave him an amused half-look before he shot a grin at Arnold. "Mr. Shortman." He saluted him, before turning his eyes solemnly on Helga. "Mrs. Shortman." Helga just gave him a very odd look, half her teeth and gums in view and eyes flat.

"Taro," Ham grinned at him, stepping forward to practically pound him on his back, almost making him fall over this time. It was a weird sort of game Zack had noticed his brother and the rest of the jocks liked to play—who could kill whoever else the most thoroughly with just a pat on the back. At first it had been funny, before they started doing it on other people too, namely him. Zack knew they got a kick out of it behind his back, and he'd made a mental note to correct this fact. He'd been too busy for a long time, though, but with Taro going off to college soon, he knew he'd better come up with something soon. This whole "mashing Zack into the wall" thing really wasn't going to work.

Taro grinned at Ham. "Ahhh, don't give me any of this formal nonsense, gimme a hug!" He grabbed him up and hugged him hard, which Ham did his level best to match in enthusiasm. Taro dropped him back down then and screwed up Ham's hair, chuckling. "Always great to see you, Hammy. I'm going to miss you."

Ham ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his face and smiled at Taro, nodding his head. "I'm going to miss you too. You'll visit on Christmas?"

"Of course." He put his hands together and bowed to the family respectfully. "Sayounara, watashi no tomodachi. Odaiji ni."

They all bowed awkwardly back, somehow always caught off guard by the need to.

Helga was the first to stand back up straight and she tried to hide her scowl, failed, and flew around to practically kick the door off it's hinges in her desperation to get out. "All righty! That's enough talking! Have fun being seventeen, Birthday Boy, I know I didn't have nearly as much fun as you when I was your age, so be grateful." She grabbed Ham and Zack by the back of their collars and proceeded to drag them out across the yard then, ignoring their backward, panicked stumbling.

Arnold blinked at all this, before he flashed a kind smile to Taro as he reached down to help Phil up off the floor. "Really, happy birthday, Taro. I hope you enjoyed your party, 'cause your parents worked really hard on it."

Taro beamed at him. "I know. I helped."

Arnold blinked in surprise. "You did?"

He laughed a little, nodding his head. "Of course. I'm the one who decorated the cake and made all the lanterns, also I helped put the banner up. This kind of doubled as my farewell party, so it was important to me." He smiled. "I couldn't just let my parents do all the work. I mean, my mom has to get up early tomorrow." Checking his watch, his smile turned sheepish. "Or, today, I suppose I should say."

Arnold stared at him a moment, before a warm smile spread across his face and he reached over to pat Taro on the shoulder. "You're a good kid, Taro, don't ever change." Seeing that Phil had nearly passed out against his legs during this little conversation, Arnold tentatively reached down to pull him back up into his arms. Surprisingly, he didn't object; just rested his head against his chest and fell back to sleep. Arnold felt his chest swell.

This was shattered by Helga's screech, "_Football Head_! I wanna go _home_!"

Arnold quickly shuffled out of the door, throwing Taro back one last smile. He just laughed at him and shut the door, enveloping the two fully in the darkness of night.

Zack popped the back door open for him and couldn't help but gawk as he saw him holding Phil again. He almost reached for his phone, but Phil suddenly snapped his eyes open and glared at him, so he just grinned and let it be. As Arnold eased Phil into the back of the car, Phil made sure to sit as far away from Zack as he possibly could in the restrictive space. They all twitched as the car door slammed shut, and Arnold walked over to sit in the front seat beside Helga. With the key already ready in the ignition, Helga asked briskly, "Okay, we got everyone here? Nobody has to use the bathroom or anything? 'Cause it's a long way home, and I sure as hell am not stopping for a f—"

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Zack flew forward to look at his parents with eyes the size of Manhattan. "Where's Amanda Faith?"

Both Arnold and Helga paused at this, and there was a moment of periods flying through the air before Arnold was suddenly ripping the car door off it's hinges and stumbling, tripping, and racing to the front of the house again in pure horror. "_Oh, my God!_"

The door flew open just before his hand managed to make contact, and Gerald stood there with a hilarious look on his face and a hand on Amanda's shoulder as she blinked her wide green eyes up at her father. Arnold screeched to a halt and immediately fell to his knees, grabbing Amanda to him in a hug. "Oh, Amanda, thank goodness! I'm so, so sorry!"

Gerald chortled. "Forget something, Shortman?"

Arnold couldn't help it. He pulled back from Amanda just enough to send a death glare at Gerald, a look that was always unnerving to see on Arnold's face, before his eyes zipped back down in concern to take in every freckle on Amanda's pale face. Sweeping her sunshiney bangs from her forehead, he asked shamefully, "Can you ever forgive me?"

Amanda could do nothing but blink for a few painstaking seconds, before one of her soft, easily forgiving smiles colored her face. "Of course, Daddy." Her hand came up to offer him something wrapped and covered in frosting, grinning. "Cupcake?"

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><p><strong>AN:** Nothing says "You are forgiven" like cupcakes. xD

I got Chocolate Boy's name from wiki, but Idk if it's accurate or not because I never heard his name on the show (I don't think). But it sounded more right to me than "Jordan," so I ran with it. Let me know if there are errors anywhere in his mention. I haven't watched that episode in a long time.

**Taro Japanese rough translation (it's been a while since I wrote that, lol):** Goodbye, my friends. Bless you.

Idk if that's right or not, I did some Googling to find it and that has people on it and I don't trust people, so eh. You get it.

If you wanted to help me reach a 100 reviews, I'd love you forever... *Big eyes* I'm posting the next part today! :)

_**REVIEW!**_


	11. Looking Up: Part 4

**Disclaimer: **Shortman kids are mine, "HEY ARNOLD!" isn't, "Snow Tiger" is a poem written by Yusef Komunyakaa (dat name).

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><p><strong>Looking Up<strong>

**Part 4  
><strong>

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><p>Phil sang in a tone thick with melodramatic depression, playing his harmonica in tune with his words, "Nobody <em>knows<em>, the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my _sorrow_…" He did a particularly long solo on the harmonica, before taking in a deep breath, "Nobody knows the trouble I've _seen_, nobody knows but _you_ _losers_…" He took in a deep breath to start playing again.

Zack had finally had enough of this, and he rolled his eyes full circle and snatched the harmonica out of his hands. "Oh, just _shut up_. When did you become such a little emo?"

Phil looked at him gravely. "The day you were born."

Half of Zack's brow snapped up. "I was born long before you, pippy. That's not possible."

"Sure it is. My soul was just floating out there somewhere in the cosmos," he waved his hand by the window, gesturing to the stars, "perfectly innocent and happy, until suddenly there was a deep pain in my stomach. I didn't know what it was until I was born years later and saw your fat, beastly face grinning down at me like a freaking triple, bacon cheeseburger!" His voice had been gaining in momentum practically since the first few words left his mouth, and by this point he was nearly nose-to-nose with Zack and scowling angrily.

Zack just gasped in pleasant surprise, though, much to his irritation. "Bacon cheeseburger! How did you know?" He wiped a few fake tears from his eyes and sniffed, before he suddenly grabbed Phil to him and pretended to chomp down on his hair. "I wonder if you taste like one too!"

Phil screamed, kicking his legs and arms around in a ferocious motion that looked like he was trying desperately to make a snow angel on the car seat.

Zack had mercy on him faster than normal and released him to slam himself up against his side of the car, panting like he'd just survived Armageddon. Zack could only chuckle at his usual drama, feeling very gel thanks to the late hour. "Ah, Philly, you make things far too easy."

Phil's eyes flashed, and Zack warily realized he wasn't anywhere near done with his freak out. His words were ground to death through clenched teeth, "I swear, Zack, you had better shut up…"

Zack just tilted his head at him and smirked, unable to resist. He was clearly too tired to think straight, but he couldn't think about that right now. "When have you ever known me to shut up, little man?"

Phil's brain short-circuited right at that moment and he flew forward in a crazed frenzy to try to physically force Zack's mouth shut with his bare hands. "_Right now_!"

Zack blocked him off effortlessly with his arm and cackled, suddenly overjoyed with the situation. "You're so _cute_!" he gushed, snickering at his brother's flustered attempts.

Phil's entire face blanked and arms froze, his cheeks slowly tingeing a deep shade of red. He looked ready to explode.

He thankfully didn't get a chance to, though, before Helga was unexpectedly in both of their faces with her eyebrows taking up half of her eyes in a murderous glare, her deep eyes swirling with a fury unbridled even by the most vengeful of gods. She screamed at them in a harsh whisper, "That is _it_. Your scrawny asses are mine, as soon as we get home I'm breaking out the pick axe! I'll chop you both into little bite-sized pieces, load you into the trunk, and since then Arnold and I will only have the _good kids_, we'll go traveling all over the world like we've always wanted at freaking last and litter your little chunks of ass all over the continents like party confetti and dance around like teenagers!" She panted, her teeth clenching hard enough they thought they could see the cracks already starting to form.

Zack and Phil stared with eyes as round and large as dinner plates, utterly gobsmacked into silence. This didn't last very long before Zack had to whisper to Phil out of the corner of his mouth, "I think I finally figured out where you got the lunatic tendencies from."

"_Shut up_!" both Helga and Phil yelled at him in unison, their eyes setting aflame.

Zack wisely zipped his lip, literally making a motion of it before putting his hands in his lap.

"Helga, love," Arnold's gentle voice rang in the front seat, startling Helga out of her ire. She blinked out of it almost as if she were in a dream, and looked back around at her husband trying to drive the car with one hand, his other preoccupied with holding a sleeping Amanda to his chest.

"Oh." She blinked and turned back around in her seat to take hold of the wheel, just as the turn came up for them to turn into their neighborhood. One of the biggest kickers about their home was that it was just far enough away from the city lights that you could see the stars out. Arnold said it was about smack-dab in the middle of Hillwood and Pleasantville—the cities that regular people and geography snobs that had never been to either cities considered the quintessential Hell and Heaven of New York, one busy and filled with muggers and old buildings half-falling apart, the other right along the countryside and filled with a bunch of eerily happy, smiley farm folk. Arnold and Helga had made sure to steer as clear away from any of that as they possibly could.

Their home was just beyond the trees and down a long, winding road filled with humble, two-story houses much like their own with a fair distance between each one. The only true downside to their home, other than the distance from P.S. 118, was that it meant visits from Arnold's cousin, his wife, Lila, and their eerily pleasant, snorting son were much more easily made. They'd made sure to conveniently forget the address to it whenever they called, even though they'd lived there for years now.

The car was silent as Helga drove the last few miles to their home, with Ham snoozing in the back, Zack about ready to join him, and Phil stiff and trying to figure out how to steal his harmonica back. Arnold just smiled at Helga affectionately, hoping to calm her down as much as possible so that she'd fall asleep more peacefully. Whenever Helga fell asleep angry, it usually meant either a lot of kicking or a lot of clinging was in order—and Arnold was exhausted and not feeling particularly lucky tonight. But a few smiles and loving touches were usually enough to melt her into a much more pleasant state. The years of therapy sessions, family counseling, marriage, and motherhood had definitely paid off in mellowing her out for the most part, and Arnold was ridiculously thankful for that at times like these. He loved her when she was fiery and worked up, but not when it was almost two in the morning and he had to get up for work at six. He was going to be a zombie in the morning.

Helga smiled back at him tiredly, and Arnold took it as a very good sign. A few minutes more of driving down a road slick with rain from hours before, and Helga was pulling into their driveway and shutting off the heater. As the car clicked to sleep, Ham blinked his eyes open to glance around dazedly at his surroundings. He yawned, stretching, "Are we home?"

Zack could just manage to mumble in his almost-sleep, "No, we're at the glue factory and preparing to kick you out, Asstein."

Ham couldn't bring forth the brainpower to produce a suitable response, so instead he just stuck his tongue out at him, too tired to care that Zack's eyes were shut and he couldn't see him.

"Okay, you guys," Arnold whispered to them, being very mindful of Amanda curled up in his chest asleep, "is anyone hungry?"

Helga gawked at him, appalled that he'd dare to ask. Though there had been a ton of snacks at the party, there had been no actual dinner, but Helga was perfectly happy with ignoring the subtle grumbling of her stomach if it meant sleep, even if it meant she'd wake up starving in the morning. But she was a grown woman—they had three growing boys, of course they were going to be hungry—how dare Arnold bring it to their attention. If there was one thing Helga did not want to do right now, it was go anywhere near their hellhole of a kitchen. Helga made sure to be very clear, "Arnold, I swear, if you're going to go down this road, you're doing it alone."

Arnold turned his half-lidded eyes on her. "It's okay, Helga, I took the liberty of buying a frozen pizza yesterday on the way home from work. You won't have to lift a finger."

"Good, 'cause three men and a boy couldn't have made me, especially not you panty-waisted ninnies," Helga retorted tonelessly, her expression flat.

Ham looked ravenous at the suggestion of food. He didn't even hear his mom as he leaned forward in his seat to look at his father with large eyes, mystified. "That sounds incredible, Dad."

Zack snorted in his sleep, waking up just enough to smirk at his brother. "You're easily pleased at two in the morning. But yeah, I mean, I could eat." His focus suddenly came down on Phil's hand trying to discreetly pull his harmonica out of his breast pocket, and his hand snapped up to grab his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Phil's green eyes snapped up to him, gloppened, and Zack smirked darkly, the moon casting shadows across his face as he forced his hand far away from his shirt. "Nice try, Philly boy, trying to steal from me in a moment of weakness. You've learned well, grasshopper." He let go of his wrist and buttoned the first few buttons of his plaid shirt, still smirking. "But for the hundredth time, you fail."

Phil growled at him, his impatience getting the better of him in his exhaustion. He snapped up straight then unexpectedly, his face going pleasant as he clasped his hands together and grinned cheerily. "Oh, the _hundredth_ time? Really? Does this mean I get a prize?" A giggle of delight bubbled up from deep in his throat.

Zack raised half his eyebrow at him at the display, before he stuck a finger in his mouth and popped it in his ear. Phil's act immediately shattered and he screeched, batting his hand away in a panicked frenzy. Zack just chuckled, his eyes half-lidded and in a very zen state of mind at the moment. "There's your prize. Enjoy." His attention went to Ham exiting the car then and he scooted over to follow out after him and his mother, not paying another thought to Phil or how he looked like he was trying to amputate his ear.

Phil growled after him, rubbing his ear with a ferocious vigor. He rubbed his hands together then, mainly to try to get rid of any Zack-spit-residue that may be on them. He shuddered a little just at the thought. "Ooooh," he scowled, "you just wait, Neanderthal, you'll get what's coming to you. Even if it kills me." He clenched his fists until his fingernails dug his palms raw.

Arnold turned around in his seat to look at him strangely.

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><p>Helga threw a bag of peas over her shoulder as she rooted through the refrigerator, which was shortly followed thereafter by a bag of corn. Zack just narrowly managed to dodge the peas, then the corn, but he only had a split second to be proud of himself for such crafty movements before a can of yams conked him on the head and rattled his brain around in his skull. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he collapsed on the floor. Helga didn't even notice.<p>

Ham walked into the kitchen moments later with his mouth posed to speak, only to have half of some leftover meatloaf sealed in plastic wrap thrown into his mouth. With eyes that held only a mild amount of surprise, Ham pulled the wrapped item out of his mouth and coughed. "Geez, Mom, what are you doing?"

Helga grunted, "Trying to find where the hell the idiot that is your father hid the pizza!"

Ham blinked, an odd look crossing his face. "Um, Mom, Dad already put the pizza in the oven…"

Helga paused, and Ham could just see the shift of her eyes as they fell upon the oven that was indeed on, before her shoulders stiffened. Ham zapped himself down behind the island, and threw his arms up over his lemon-shaped head, expecting the worst. Noticing Zack laying on the floor with a knot on his head then, Ham squeaked and repelled away, almost wondering if he should be trying to make a run for it. Nothing came, though, and after a few tense, paranoid seconds, Ham slowly peeked his head up over the counter.

Helga noticed this and rolled her eyes, a small, boxed peach cobbler in her hand and the refrigerator door closed now. "Don't worry, Ham, I'm pleased, not angry. Get off the floor, I haven't swept in a week. Who knows what's down there."

Ham twisted his face and stood up, still wary. "What about Zack? What happened to him?"

Helga looked at him quizzically. "What do you—" she noticed him passed out on the floor, "Oh." Blinking a few times, Helga finally just shrugged. "He must have passed out. We're all tired, Ham, don't judge your brother." She eyed the back of the cobbler. "Even if he's pretty much begging for it." Helga sauntered over to the microwave and popped the peach dessert item inside, setting the timer for ten minutes. As she walked over to throw away the box, she noticed the pizza one thrown out on top of the pile. Tossing the peach box away, Helga picked up the pizza box and raised an eyebrow in interest. "Focaccia," she read to herself before snorting and throwing the box back in. "Damn Italians."

Meanwhile Ham was busy inspecting his older brother blacked out on the floor, a slow forming smile of delight appearing on his face. "This is fantastic."

Helga walked over to stand beside him and stare down at her eldest son, his pale face totally pleasant despite the epic bean so contradictorily growing on his head. Helga hummed ruefully, almost wanting to shake her head but somehow unable to summon the energy. "I know. He looks like such an angel in his sleep. Nobody would even know he was the world's biggest pain in the ass." She blinked suddenly, crossing her eyes. "Er, butt, whatever." She rolled her eyes, knowing her husband would scold her for cursing in front of them when she wasn't blinded by rage and could actually help it.

Ham looked at her a second before looking back down at his brother, his bottom lip held tight between his teeth awkwardly. "Uh, I was thinking more along the lines of pranks." He snapped his head over to her to grin charmingly, rubbing his hands together. "Just think of all the things we could do to him."

Helga gave him the fish-eye. "Oh, no, you are not taking advantage of your brother in this state—"

"But Mom, when will an opportunity like this ever come again?" Ham looked at her pleadingly. "This kind of thing never happens!"

Helga huffed, rolling her eyes at his overdramatic assessment. "Ham, Zack sleeps all the time, just like all of us, just get him then, when we're all _not_ half-dead and you have school in the morning—"

Ham put his hands on his hips and gave her a hard look, incredulous. "No, Mom, Zack sleeps in his room at all times, with the door dead-bolted shut. That gap under his door? He blocks it off with a board that he put rubber padding under so you can't push it out of the way. The window you're always saying has such thin glass? He replaced that long ago with _bullet-proof _glass, and replaced the locks so it's impossible to get in, not to mention he has some of the thickest curtains I've ever seen. Heck, I think he even sound-proofed the place, I don't know—I haven't seen inside his room since I was eight! He's prepared for _everything_." He whipped a hand in Zack's direction, his eyes narrowed. "You can't tell me not to take advantage of this."

Helga stared at him like he'd lost his mind. She knew her boys had a sort of rivalry going on with Zack but Ham was making it sound like an all-out war. He'd been looking under his door, and checked his window… How did he even do that? There weren't any trees by Zack's side of the house. He'd have had to get out a ladder… either that or he found her old grappling gear. The thought made her a bit wary. So she decided to try a different approach—she narrowed her eyes. That alone put him on edge, and Helga smirked. "Joshua Abraham, I am shocked with you. What kind of a man are you, taking a cheap shot like this. That's like kicking a man in the balls and running away. How dishonorable."

Ham looked at her a tad dryly. "Yeah, well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and it's his own fault for leaving his pants down." He turned away then, putting a large hand on the counter and leaning against it as he glared at a wall. "Besides, Zack told me once that honor was a crock. Whatever works, works. He even said, and I quote, 'While the enemy is rambling on and on about honor, I've already won the million and am living it up in the Bahamas.' " Ham huffed, looking at her angrily. "Zack deserves what's coming to him. You've seen how smug he is—I hate to say it, but he's right. He always wins. And it doesn't make _any sense_. If the natural balance of things isn't going to knock him off his pedestal, then _I will_." He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out some whipped cream and sweet and sour sauce.

Helga observed this with an amused smirk. She stepped over to put a hand on his shoulder. "What do you think you're doing?"

Ham snapped his head to her, his look firm. "Mom, I'm not passing this up, I'm sorry—"

Helga quickly shook her head and snatched the whipped cream out of his hand, smirking. "No, what are you doing with whipped cream? The old hand-and-feather trick? How cliché can you be? Not _my_ son." She stuffed it back in and pulled out some hot fudge. "Try this, it's sticky as sin, and it'll take him at least half an hour to get it all out of his nose, and even then he'll never be able to look at chocolate the same again."

Ham blinked at her, pleasantly surprised, before a grin broke out across his face. Helga just smirked back knowingly. Ham took the fudge from her hand and turned it around in his hand, his eyes falling halfway as he gazed at it. "Thanks, Mom." He held up the sweet and sour sauce. "But I was gonna slather the whip cream with some of this so if he tried to lick it off, he'd be in for a surprise."

Helga hummed to herself, putting a hand to her chin as she thought this over a moment with a cocked brow. "Not bad, but there's no telling with Zack—he might end up liking it, or he'd at least pretend to to make it seem like you lost. Too weak. It needs more of a punch." She pulled out some ultra hot sauce and a jar of pickles. "The pickle juice is easy enough, and with hot sauce, it's a guaranteed disaster." Helga's eyes narrowed evilly and she chuckled.

Ham's eyes widened and he snatched the contents out of her hands with enthusiasm. "_Nice_." He took a large step over to place all the jars and bottles on the counter, before he practically raced over to the cabinets, grinning at his mother. "I think I have some leftover itching powder in here from my last attempt. I was hoping he'd mistake it for pepper, but instead it just ended up in my bed." Ham narrowed his eyes, before he chuckled, smirking. "No mercy."

Helga laughed almost maniacally as she wandered over to him, grinning at him. She patted him on the back. "I like the way you think, kid. It's his own fault for leaving his pants down, right?"

Ham laughed right along with her. "Exactly!"

The sound of moaning and groaning made them both freeze in their spots, before the unmistakable sound of shuffling clothes and feet. There was a pause, and a mumble of, "What kind of a pizza is this," before footsteps pounded in their ears. It didn't take long for Zack to be right behind them, and he tiredly put his arms around their shoulders and looked between them. "Care to explain what the hell happened?" He rolled his shoulders, his eyes losing focus for a second as he groaned. "And why I feel like someone threw a brick at my head?"

Helga was the first to recover from having their plans shattered, and she sent Ham's stiff face an apologetic look before turning towards Zack to take a closer look at the goose egg on his head. "I don't know, love, you must have passed out or something. You do look exhausted." She hissed at his hiss when she touched the spot, and quickly retracted her hand. "I'm sorry."

Zack unclenched his eyes and tried to smile. "It's okay. But I didn't pass out, I think I got knocked out. The last thing I remember is dodging some vegetables and then there was this sharp pain." He winced, reaching up to rub at his head. "Criminy, if I didn't have sense before, I certainly have it now."

Helga chuckled weakly, her face flushed. "Oops."

Zack looked at her through a squinted eye with half his brow raised, before he turned around and sauntered out of the room, grabbing up the whipped cream and sweet and sour sauce on his way out. He flashed them a grin just before he disappeared out the door. "These go _great_ with pizza!"

Ham stared after him with his jaw on the floor and sparks shooting out of his head.

Helga just chuckled, shaking her head as she stared out in the direction he'd gone with a hint of pride. "Yeah, that's my son, all right." She twisted her face. "Don't know where he got the odd taste pallet, though. Must be from Arnold's crazy side of the family. Gertie, probably… which would actually explain a lot." She grimaced.

Ham's response was nothing more than a vague nod of his head, still utterly flabbergasted. He didn't know whether to explode, scream, or just start smashing furniture against the walls. He was saved from having to make that choice when the oven went off, and the smell of freshly cooked pizza filled the air. His stomach rumbled and he grabbed it, conceding defeat with a sigh. "Give me an extra large piece."

"Can do," Helga chuckled at him, already pulling the pizza out of the oven. She walked over to place it on the counter, pulling her pink oven mitts off of her hands as she went.

Amanda's small, pink form came meandering in the doorway, rubbing her foggy eyes. "I smell food."

"That you do, Faith!" A knife the size of her head plunged down into the cutting board, and zinged back and forth as Helga let it go with a grin. "How hungry are you, darling?"

Amanda blinked, looking absolutely beat. "Just one small slice, please." She sighed, her pigtails drooping down low as she closed her eyes. "I'm tired."

Helga cut into the pizza with a rushed vigor, yelling out to the rest of the family in the living room, "Right, I want all you nincompoops shoving this crap down your throat as fast as you can and in bed within ten minutes, _teeth brushed_! This is not a drill, this is…" she blinked frantically, distressed, before shoving the knife even harder into the pizza with an almost violent jerk of her hand, "really hard to cut! Damn you, Italians, and your fancy words and thick crusts! Focaccia my ass!" She jerked her head to Ham, who took a step back almost without thinking. "Get some plates! _Paper plates_! This crap's not worth washing dishes!" She muttered then to herself, angrily, "Or the constipation medicine I'm no doubt going to have to buy from that snot-bagged yenta at the pharmacy tomorrow. Thank God for peach cobbler, that should put a kink in the system."

There was a sudden mumble of a yell from the living room.

Helga blinked, pausing in her near-annihilation of their meal to look towards the door. "What was that?" she yelled.

The mumble came again, a bit louder but still not discernible.

Helga huffed. "Speak up, I can't hear you!"

Zack's voice rang true this time around, possessing a much louder voice, "Phil just said something about having diarrhea!"

Helga's face twisted, and a record screeched in her head, causing her to clench her teeth a second. "Agh… thanks for sharing, Phillip! Great timing!" She stuck her tongue out.

There was an angry shout, then the furious stamping of feet up the hall before Phil appeared in the doorway, his hair crazy and eyes mad. "_I said_, focaccia sounds like a diarrhea medicine, not that I had it!"

"Oh, well, thanks for making dinner sound that much more appetizing, Phil," Helga retorted, dead-eyed.

Phil glared at her. "How do you think I feel? I'm the one who had it pass through my head."

Zack appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulders, shocking him into jumping forward and nearly slamming into the counter. Zack just grinned, his arms falling to his sides. "That's because you have the most screwed up mindset of the family." He chuckled. "Mentioning diarrhea right before dinner. Only you would do that, Philly Beans."

Before Phil could protest, their father came wandering into the room, looking a bit lost as he glanced among them with eyes that were only half there. "What's all this about diarrhea?"

A dazed Amanda leaning against the kitchen counter was the one to answer, "Oh, Phil just said he had diarrhea or, or something." Her chin fell onto her chest.

Arnold hummed, as if processing this, before he wandered over distractedly to aid his wife. "Ah, well, take some Pepto-Bismol or something. I think there's some in the bathroom."

Phil snapped around with wild eyes, his finger in the air. "_I didn't say_—"

Zack interrupted him flatly, walking over to stand beside him, "Phil, seriously, stop talking. You'll only destroy more of your dignity."

Phil puffed out his bottom lip as Zack walked over to help their parents load the food onto the plates with Ham, and spun on his heel to stalk out of the room. As soon as he was out of earshot, safely in the empty seclusion that was currently their living room, he ducked down behind his favorite lazy boy chair and smirked. A piece of paper was retrieved from his sweater, and the grin that cracked his face could set entire fields to flame. "Dignity, Zack? Oh no, you won't have any room to talk about any of that." He chuckled darkly, eagerly unfolding the notebook paper in his hands. When he'd snuck into the kitchen while the sunshine-haired teenager was passed out and his mother and brother were busy rustling through the cabinets, his only intention had been to get back his harmonica, but something about the tiny scrap of paper had been too intriguing to leave behind. It was folded too tightly, a few too many times, as if he'd been attempting to make it small enough that it would just disappear from existence all together. Even in his sleep, though, he somehow knew he was up to no good, and Phil had fled as soon as the first eyelid twitched, miraculously making it out unscathed.

He just had to look at it one more time, make sure it was really real. It seemed almost too good to be true, too perfect, too far-fetched of the self-proclaimed unconquerable Zack—for a moment he thought it must be a trick of some sort. It couldn't possibly be real, and yet it was right here, sharp around the edges and wrinkled in his hands. Phil had to hold back a burst of genuine giggling just at the notion of his situation. Years and years of wit-filled banter while simultaneously searching for weaknesses had finally paid off. Zack's weakness was that he was secretly a powder-puff.

Phil always knew that Zack was laid back, and he'd caught him a few times either staring out the window at the birds singing in the morning or staring intensely at the words of a book, but he'd had no idea it was this bad. Right at the top it had his name scrawled none-too-gracefully in blue ink, as if it were rushed, and the original assignment's goal written much more neatly on the first few lines. _Write a metaphorical poem. It can be any type you like. _The poem itself was confusing. Phil wasn't much the metaphorical type. He was pretty straight-forward, he'd like to think, and he was deadly honest—a fact he was sure some people would much rather do without. But that little fact aside, though metaphors and hidden messages weren't his element, he didn't care. Even if he couldn't decode what exactly Zack meant by the poem, it didn't change the fact that he'd written a poem, well and with a clear passion, not to mention half of it was in pink ink (it must have been a very desperate time). That alone was enough to ruin him.

_Snow tiger_

_Ghost sun half_

_hidden, where did you go?_

_There's always a mother_

_of some other creature_

_born to fight for her young._

_But crawl out of your hide,_

_walk upright like a man,_

_&__ you may ask if hunger is the only passion_

_as you again lose yourself_

_in a white field's point of view._

_In this glacial quiet_

_nothing moves except—_

_then a flash of eyes _&_ nerves._

_If cornered in your head by cries from a cave_

_in another season, you can't forget_

_in this landscape a pretty horse_

_translates into a man holding a gun._

What kind of mystical nonsense was this? Phil was a very specific type of artist, he was obsessed with script writing, film, acting, and was an avid enjoyer of poetry but usually only of the seventeenth century variety for whatever mindfarty reason (not to mention he preferred rhyming, but _whatever_), but he could tell when "regular" poetry was good, and this was—but still, he didn't know what it meant. From what he could figure just from his second read, Zack was the man with the gun, and everyone else was the tiger. Zack _was_ the dominating type, it would be like him to write a poem like that. But meaning or no meaning, _he had him_. He had him and his fluffy poetry and rushed, crappy pink handwriting and – he stuck his tongue out, wiping his hand on his pants – and his sticky white rice and cheese puff crumbs. He clearly didn't have much of a respect for his talents.

But what did it matter? What did any of it matter? He'd won. He'd finally won. He had blackmail, in it's purest form, on _Zack_. His reputation couldn't afford being good at something as shamefully girly as this. He could have Zack begging on his knees within twenty four hours if he wanted. _Finally_. _At freaking last. _And he'd done it before _Ham_, no less—although that wasn't that surprising, Ham wasn't exactly the crafty type. But oh, Phil was, Phil knew how to be sneaky, he'd had more than enough practice, and by flying pigs, if it hadn't paid off. Phil hugged the paper to his chest, shutting his eyes in bliss.

Who needed women, when there was _revenge_?

* * *

><p>Zack stretched his long arms high in the air, releasing a yawn that had been trying to escape him for the last five minutes, before he shrugged out of his blue and black plaid shirt. It fell to the floor in a crinkled pile, and he reached down to pluck it off the floor and hang it up in his closet. He didn't bother with hanging up the rest of his clothes, just tore his black t-shirt over his head and threw it to the floor, which was shortly followed by his belt.<p>

A soft, blue sleep shirt was pulled up his arms and slowly buttoned, his blue eyes roaming the glow in the dark stars he'd stuck to his ceiling when he was eleven, just barely visible in the dim lighting of white Christmas lights hung along the walls. His ceiling was low, and his room relatively small—cozy, one might say. But it was big enough for a bed, a desk, a chair, and even a small couch, and that was all he really wanted in his bedroom anyway. His bare feet clawed into the plush of his white carpet, bracing himself as his eyes inevitably fell to his homemade, tye-dyed curtains.

Curiosity had been eating at him for the better part of the day, and he found himself wondering if he could even see outside with it as dark as it was. Despite his doubts, Zack pulled up his plaid pants and glided like a ghost over to his window. Pulling back the old comforter, he peeked outside across the way.

The house next to them had been for sale for as long as he could remember. Families came and went within weeks, never staying and never bothering to take the For Sale sign out of the yard. Zack didn't know what was wrong with it. It seemed like a perfectly nice house, not unlike his own. An old, hairy neighbor about a mile off had made up a story once that it was haunted, but Zack didn't trust the source. The guy called himself Fuzzy Slippers, for Pete's sake, when from what Zack could observe he should be calling himself Hairy Toenails.

Zack and Jaron had spent the night in it once when they were thirteen to prove it was safe, even going as far as to drag Ham along. Or, maybe 'drag' wasn't the right word—more like begged him not to come only for him to threaten telling on them if they didn't let him… okay, so they didn't drag him along at all. He dragged them, but whatever, it all ended in the same conclusion. The entire affair had cost them a rant from Phil calling them crazy for even humoring such things, and then gained them a big laugh when they'd come home to find out that Phil had spent the night in their parents' room with a Wally stuffy.

But the house had proven perfectly fine, homey even. The interior was very warm and the carpet soft enough that they almost didn't need sleeping bags. It had actually been rather anticlimactic, save for Jaron randomly screaming in the middle of the night for no good reason.

But the house had been empty for well over two years now, and Zack thought everyone had finally just given up on the poor little house. But there it was, right before his very eyes.

A light was on, and the shadow of a stranger.

* * *

><p>The bell was ringing. Oh man, the bell was ringing. Why did the bell have to be ringing? There were so many other times it could be ringing. Why now of all times?<p>

Zack gulped, finding that even with his arm in a sling, his legs felt like the most broken parts of himself right now. He almost wished all of his limbs were broken—then he'd be a full on invalid, and incapable of going to recess. Then again some of the kids would get a kick out of playing the "I'm not touching you" game if he couldn't do a thing about it, and he'd be reduced to trying to bite their fingers off, an idea he did not relish at all when thinking of Booger Boy and his pudgy fingers that always seemed to be stuck up his nostril—_right only_, mind you—whatever, like there was any point in being picky about it… Holy moly_, _he _wished_ that pun was intended.

Clearing his thoughts with a deep breath, he tried to stand up from his desk, and nearly collapsed to the floor from how shaky his legs were. He huffed, "Darn it."

Mrs. Holt was beside him in a second, taking his arm and helping him stand up straight with eyes that had never been this concerned before. "Are you okay, Zachary? Do you think you can walk?"

Zack gaped at her, and snatched his arm out of her hand, offended at the touch. Despite it, he at least tried to be polite, though his response was curt, "I'm fine." Not making anymore eye contact than necessary, he walked out of the classroom and down the hall, glad she wasn't following.

Well, he wasn't dead yet. That was a good sign. Zack walked a little easier, his eyes everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Kids cleared the halls when they saw him, some practically racing away when they saw the cast over his arm, and Zack ducked his head low. He'd never thought it would be so important to him what these kids thought of him, but it hurt. He could handle being invisible, but not to be visible only as a source of destruction. The kids balked as he passed, held their books tighter, grabbed onto friends' arms.

Zack was used to it by this point. He knew not to make eye contact, he knew not to express emotion—a smile unnerved them, a frown scared them, but indifference they couldn't make a fuss about. So Zack walked, steadily and eyes down, as if he didn't have a huge cast over his arm or a bully waiting outside to break the other.

The very thought made him stiffen, and suddenly, he stopped dead.

All the kids held their breath, willing him to continue forward.

Zack's mind was busy as he stood, barely breathing lest he break the tense silence in the air, waiting for him. It seemed that no matter what he did, these kids didn't like him. If he was quiet, they were suspicious. If he smiled at them, they ran in fear. If he frowned, they nearly fainted. None of them had ever taken the time to get to know him, even before August. He'd always thought that friendship was natural, but there was nothing natural about this.

It hadn't bothered him before what these people thought, but now that it affected him, he was irked. He'd had the worst day of his entire life yesterday, had his parents in hysterics over a lie he'd told, a lie he'd told in order to protect the very person he hated. He had no patience for this anymore. If they were going to be like this, then, well, who was he to deny them?

Taking in a breath, Zack twirled around on his foot and hesitated. Every eye was on him, gasps ripping from peoples' throats. They all seemed to repel away from him. Despite himself, Zack found this amusing. You'd think he was the bully with the way they were acting, but he wasn't. He'd never been nor would ever be a bully. Yet here they were, terrified. Nobody wanted to be associated with the damned.

Blinking, Zack felt a small smile curl his lips, slowly giving show to some teeth. He jerked forward, and they all took a step back. He held back a snicker. It had never occurred to him before, but he held some power over these people. These stupid, stupid people.

Licking his lips, he said, "Ooga booga."

Their eyes all widened in horror and a raven-haired girl in the front fainted with a gasp, further startling them all as they jumped backward from her.

Zack burst into laughter, and, feeling inspired, he scoffed. "Criminy, you'd think you guys had never seen a baseball injury before. _Excuse_ me." He humphed and turned on his heel, pushing through the doors to exit out to the playground, leaving them all with their jaws dropped.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the truth, but they couldn't handle the truth. Clearly. He was protecting them, just like he was protecting his parents. This was his burden to bear—it was his own fault after all. Reading poetry in class. What kind of a boy wrote poetry? And willingly read it in front of everyone he knew? Foolish. He wouldn't make that mistake again, not for as long as he lived. The problem was that he liked writing poetry. It gave him a sense of peace to be able to put his feelings into words like that. It had just never occurred to him before that other people might find that weird. He'd just have to burn them after he wrote them or something. He didn't care if anyone read them anyway, he just liked writing them.

With these thoughts in mind, he walked at a snail's pace to the center of the playground, a place he felt to be the safest out of all the grounds. Dead center in everyones' line of sight meant clear witnesses. But then again, did he really want that right now? August would come for him sooner or later, no matter how he avoided it, and he wasn't sure he even wanted witnesses for that anymore. They all reacted so strongly to seeing the extent of his damage on him. Normally August would just pull him behind somewhere so no one could tattle on him or any teachers could see, so nobody ever really knew what he did, they just knew he did _something_—now they had a better clue, and it was scary to see. Zack couldn't entirely blame them for their reaction. He was scared too.

Speaking of scared—Zack locked his legs, stopping them from knocking against each other. This was not the time to show fear. He would just have to talk to August and work this out somehow. He wasn't sure how, but there had to be something he could do to stop this. He didn't know why he thought he could say anything now, he'd been trying for many months to get him to stop, many attempts that had all been to no avail. What made now any different?

He supposed because this wasn't just about himself anymore. Now it was about his family.

Home always had been his one safe point. When he got home from school, he could immediately wash his hands of his day, no matter how bad, as if it had never happened. At home he could be himself and prank his dad and hide in the laundry bin for hours snickering at his father's enraged yells for him to come out and explain himself. He could blow raspberries on Ham's arm and have him scream at him to stop, and have fights over whose leg Phil was going to be attached to for the evening. And soon there was going to be another baby. He was going to have another brother to raise heck with, and he was starting to get those butterflies in his stomach at the idea. Now August was starting to creep his way into his personal life, and Zack couldn't play that game. When the baby was born, Zack wanted to be in one piece for him, not scattered across the pavement in little smears.

Darn it, he was Zachary Shortman. His brothers looked up to him, his father feared him, his mother—okay, his mother scared everyone, so he couldn't say anything there. But still.

A hand clasped his shoulder then, and Zack gasped at the ominous voice, "It's time, short man."

His heart going a hundred miles an hour, Zack sucked in a deep breath and shut his eyes. A death sentence. That's what it sounded like.

_I'm pregnant._

_Arnold, we're the worst parents ever._

_You know you can talk to me about anything._

_Zack, did something happen?_

_You gotta look up, you gotta be strong…_

_Everything will be fine._

Zack's eyes opened.

"No. No it's not."

* * *

><p>Heavy metal music burst into the room, a guitar screeching in time with someone screaming like their life depended on it. Zack spazzed awake with a frightened yell and flew off the side of the bed, landing face down in his carpet.<p>

Groaning, Zack reached up to blindly look for the off button, pressing anything and everything that was pressable until his alarm clock finally shut up. Zack sighed in relief, just allowing himself some time to enjoy how wonderfully comfy his carpet was. He'd never noticed before, but it was magnificent. He could just lay there forever.

The light doze he'd found himself in was ruined by a pounding on his door. "Zack," his father called, his voice heavily muffled through the door though he could hear him all the same, unfortunately, "you've got to wake up! Everyone's already eating breakfast! I made waffles!"

Zack groaned, not feeling particularly up for the idea of food right now. His stomach grumbled then, and Zack grumbled back. "Unfair."

He dragged himself up from the floor, his eyes still closed, and walked over to open his closet. He knew his room like the back of his hand, and had no trouble maneuvering around to find what he needed. Jeans, black shirt, plaid shirt, belt, hairbrush—where was his hairbrush? Groaning, he stumbled over to his curtain and lazily pulled on it. It didn't budge. Frustrated, he grabbed it with both hands and jerked it open, nearly ripping it off of the curtain rod and falling back on his butt.

Hissing at his clumsiness, Zack tried to open his eyes, only to have them burned with the bright light of morning. Gah, why did his room have to be facing the east?

Groggily, like a rising zombie, Zack pulled himself up from the floor to face his window, basking in it's glow and slowly allowing his eyes to adjust to the light.

He noticed his brush laying on his windowsill then as his blindness wore off, and grabbed it up with a grin. "Ha! Triumph!" Without thinking, his bright eyes went back out the window and noticed his new neighbor's window was wide open. Instantly interested and curious, he leaned in closer and tried to see what they looked like through bleary eyes.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to be able to make out the figure in the window, his jaw dropped.

It was some chick—_getting dressed_. She was just pulling her shirt off, giving view to a ridiculously brightly colored bra, when she turned in his direction. In a flash of widened eyes and flailing lips, she pulled her shirt back down and threw her curtains closed.

If Zack wasn't still brain dead before, he was now. And fully awake, he might add. He had never seen—or this was the first—but how was it even—and first thing in the freaking morn—Okay, he should really shut up.

Still wide-eyed and gaping out his window with his hands gripping his curtains, a long, odd squeaking noise drew out of his throat. Should… Should he tell Sophie about this? That probably wouldn't be wise, but he might feel guilty if he didn't.

Oh, what was he going on about? It was a complete accident, one that barely lasted a second and he couldn't even see clearly from the distance, and the chick was practically asking for it with undressing right in front of an open window. What kind of idiot did that? Second story or not, she did know there were other people out here, right?

Letting out a breath, Zack shut his curtains tight and wandered over to his mirror. With a delicate flourish, he brushed his hair out so it was neat and tidy and grinned proudly at himself… before it all sproinged up into crazy cowlicks and his face dropped. Damn his father.

The scent of waffles filled his nose then, and his father beat on the door for the second time this morning. "Zack, I've got blueberries!"

Okay, no, strike that. His father was a god.

* * *

><p>By the time Zack made it down to the dining room, the usual sight filled his eyes. Light streamed through the windows, and a big plate of waffles was in the center of the table, along with a small plate of bacon that seemed to be placed there absentmindedly, a vase of wildflowers at the end of the table that somehow was always miraculously filled with different flowers each morning, and a big glass container of syrup that Phil and Amanda were currently fighting over while Ham just palmed his face. His father was an excellent cook, and sometimes Zack wondered why he didn't just make all of their meals—irrevocably, his father and mother had an agreement that he made breakfast and she covered dinner, because his father was a morning person and his mother was… not.<p>

With the plate his father had shoved in his arms when he'd finally come out of his room in hand, Zack took his usual seat beside Ham and raised half his brow at Amanda and Phil each trying to manhandle the syrup away from each other. Much more awake now, Zack grinned over at Ham, enthused in the chaos as he usually was, "What's been going on down here? Can you not function without me for five minutes?"

Ham gave him a tired look, a large hand covering half his face. "Zack, put a cork in it, for one day, please. I have a headache."

"Ahhh," Zack sympathized, leaning back and balancing on the back legs of his chair, "get a little too schnockered at the party last night? I know how that is."

"No you don't," Ham said plainly, rubbing his hand over his eyes.

"Is this your way of saying you did?"

Ham shot him a look. "No."

Zack chuckled, grabbing a piece of bacon. "Good, 'cause I seriously think that punch was spiked."

"What?" Phil's eyes snapped to him, suddenly on high alert.

Zack looked at him gravely, taking a jerking bite of his bacon for emphasis and waving it at him. "You heard me. That stuff knocked me right out and I woke up all confused."

"Well, you're always confused." Phil meant it as an insult, but he didn't look it; just intent and calm. His actions contrasted that as he grabbed the syrup from Amanda again and sat it on the far end on his side of the table, smirking at her. "But I drank that punch too, and I was fine—"

"You passed out in the bathtub and then let Dad carry you to the car," Zack cackled. "Ah, criminy, I almost forgot about that. I still have pictures. That is so going viral." He looked over to Ham, who was much more computer savvy than him, and asked with a mockingly starstruck grin, "Josh, you think you could make Philly a star?"

Ham's only response was to throw his waffle in his face, not appreciating him trying to pull him in on a joke at such an early hour.

Zack tore it off and sputtered, wiping his face. Despite the unpleasant event, Zack looked even more amused than before, a fact Ham found vexing. "How is it you claim to be the nice one yet you're the only one of all of us with violent tendencies?"

"Who said I don't have violent tendencies?" Phil asked from across the table with a dark look, his lips sneering up in a mischievous smirk. Memories of his unique find from the night before flashed through his mind, and gave his look a more authentic realism to it. He liked that Zack still thought he had the upper hand. It was more amusing than infuriating now.

But still Zack found ways to press his buttons, as he burst into laughter at his look and gave a loud snort. "Oh, please, Phil, it's too early for you to be this cute. Have you seen yourself? Violent tendencies or not, you're a pipsqueak. Nobody's afraid of you."

Phil burst up from his seat and pointed his fork in his face with a maniacal scowl, the very blunt fork his parents had gotten especially for him. "The school board was afraid enough of me to expel me! Don't you sit there on your high horse and tell me I can't intimidate people!"

Even with a fork in his face and an enraged mad child sneering at him, Zack looked relaxed and happy. "They expelled you because you argued with the teachers and went off into mad rants about the subjects, not because they were afraid of you. You're just astoundingly annoying."

"It was not—" Phil started, before freezing to a stop with his face strained. He'd been expelled for much more than that but he wasn't about to tell him about any of that. Sometimes he forgot there were certain things he couldn't just blurt out in the middle of his rants. Relenting, Phil settled for growling at him, "They were intimidated by my high intelligence and were too prideful to admit that they were wrong. Buffoons, all of them. Not to mention their drama club was filled with inexperienced children with no idea how to do _anything,_ let alone make a good play."

"Oh, hm," Zack bit his tongue between his teeth, eyes wandering up in sarcasm, "children acting like children? Perish the thought, Philliam Fancy-Pants. To think you scold me for having an ego."

Phil huffed melodramatically, rolling his eyes. "I don't have an ego, I simply don't underestimate myself. I'm capable of things, and I know I am. And I most certainly don't go on and on about myself day and night like you." He gave him a sharp look. "There's not a humble bone in your scrawny, string bean of a body. When you bump into a wall, you glare at the wall like it was it's fault rather than your own moronic hide's! You're the first to sing your praises and the last to admit to your mistakes! If there is one thing you cannot joke about, it is anyone having a more bloated head on their shoulders than _you_!" He shoved his finger straight in his face.

Zack let out a long stream of air from puckered lips, a laugh underlying his breath. "Now that was a doozy." He clapped his hands, forcing a mile long grin onto his face. "Bravo! Once again you have proven yourself to be the most severely lacking in sanity of our entire family."

"Okay, wait," Ham suddenly interjected into their conversation in a slow voice, his face wide open and disbelieving, "have you even _met_ our family? Am I the only one who can see this? The last time we visited the boarding house, Grandma Gertie was walking through the halls on stilts claiming there were ninjas on the ceiling, Grandpa Phil told us he single-handedly whooped Hitler's butt and won the war, Grandpa Bob told us in a totally pleasant voice that he almost died from gas once and gained inner peace because of it, then offered to make tea for us in his _own personal backyard yurt_—and, seriously, does no one remember Mom going completely bananas on you guys in the car last night? How can you say with a straight face that Phil is the most insane?"

Zack blinked at him, a tad blank. "I don't see your point. I like Grandpa Bob's yurt. That's some good living. Dad and I helped him rebuild it again when I was a kid, too, so it's built very sturdily. Nothing's taking that baby down. I want a yurt when I'm grown up."

"I know," Phil commented, sticking a forkful of blueberry waffles in his mouth, "that tea he makes makes me feel really peaceful. Like nothing can hurt me."

"Oh, that's because he adds sedative in yours," Zack commented offhandedly, pouring some syrup over his waffles.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, seriously, you're missing the point," Ham stressed, placing his hands palm-down on the table. Enunciating each word heavily, he tapped his forefingers on the table in tune with his words, "There is no sanity, in this house. Or in this family in general, at all. Can we just be clear on that?"

Arnold, who had entered the room moments before, sank down into a seat at the head of the table and sipped his coffee. "Oh, they're just having fun, Ham. Let it be. I used to be just like you when I was your age." He nudged him with a tired smile. "But you know if things ever changed one day that you'd miss it."

Ham sighed, rubbing his cheek and looking as if even that little bit of movement was exhausting. "I just don't understand how I can be related to them sometimes."

Arnold shrugged, smiling his understanding smile. "If it helps, I see the resemblance. You're just tired now is all." Sipping his coffee some more, he muttered, "All of us are." Noticing Amanda sinking down in her seat, he called over in concern, "Amanda, are you all right?"

She just mumbled something incoherent and yawned, but Arnold got the message loud and clear. Smiling gently, he asked, "Amanda, if you're too tired to go to school today, you can stay home."

This seemed to get Amanda's attention well enough, and she blinked drearily at him, trying to wake up enough to respond with something other than tired garbles. "I, I can?"

Arnold nodded. "Of course. I'm your teacher, aren't I? I can tell when a student isn't fit for the school day. I'll just give you your assignments when I get back, and you can stay home and sleep in with Mom."

Amanda looked a bit more like her usually bubbly self, but just as she opened her mouth to voice her appreciation, a yawn interrupted her and left her dazed once more. Arnold just chuckled. "You're very welcome, Sweetheart."

Zack gaped at this development. Amanda got to stay home, just like that? Zack was tired—maybe not tired enough to stay home from school, but he could play it off. If he could stay home today, maybe then he could play up the whole "spiked punch" deal and pretend he was sick. If he could stay home long enough, by the time he got back, Pam wouldn't even remember anything about him, let alone his poem. She may be stubborn, but Zack was slick. He could do this easily. His mouth was already open, his fullproof speech formed, yawns ready, and spiked punch story at the tip of his tongue in case he needed it—when the doorbell rang and interrupted his plans.

Arnold's head lazily pointed in the direction of the front door, his face curious. "Who could that possibly be?" Confused, Arnold slowly rose up from the table and exited the room. The sound of the door opening was heard, and a few mumbled words they couldn't make out, before there was a long pause. Then, "_Zachary Shortman_!"

Zack blinked in surprise. He'd only just woken up, he usually didn't get his dad this mad until after he got home from school. More baffled than afraid, Zack yelled back, "What?"

Once more, his dad bellowed, "Get out here right now, young man!"

Oh God. Zack walked calmly out of the room, leaving behind his very curious family, and wandered into the hallway to see what was up. He asked, not even noticing their guest who'd suddenly gone rigid at the sight of him, "Geez, where's the fire, Dad? Don't tell me Timmy fell down the well again—"

"This is no time for jokes," his father's tone rang deadly serious, chilling almost, and if Zack was the type to be afraid of fluffy puppy dogs barking at him, he'd be terrified. Zack smirked at his inner joke, but Arnold just continued to keep his stony expression, unamused. "Zachary, I've always known you were a trouble maker, but I'd thought better of you than this. I am deeply disappointed with you."

This got Zack's attention, and his father's words sent a pang of hurt through him. "Dad, seriously, what did I do?"

"Well, why don't you ask our guest, Peeping Tom?" Arnold said sarcastically, gesturing an arm to the girl Zack finally noticed was in the room, and his jaw dropped. Her jaw had long dropped, so they were just staring at each other in shock now. The girl's lollypop hung deafly from her tongue, the stick pointing down.

"_You?_" they both burst suddenly, pointing fingers at each other in disbelief.

Pam spluttered, nearly choking on her lollypop before she grabbed it out of her mouth to gape properly. "You're my new creepy neighbor?"

"You're my new idiot neighbor?" he asked in a similar tone.

There was a pause where they just stared at each other.

Arnold seemed confused, and though his face remained stern, he had to ask, "Wait, you two know each other?"

"Unfortunately," Zack answered distantly as if he were floating above them, looking dead.

Pam just gawked at him more, before waving her lollypop at him as realization dawned. "You—You—You were spying on me while I was getting dressed! You're a sicko!"

Zack's nostrils flared in defense, blue eyes setting aflame. "All I did was open my curtains, and then _boom_, half-naked chick! It wasn't my fault you were stupid enough to get dressed right in front of an open window! You were asking for it!"

Pam's face went red at the point, before she got defensive again and shouted, feeling humiliated and having a distinct need to destroy her offender, "I was on the second story, your curtains were closed, and I was in a rush! I can't think straight when I'm just waking up, and you didn't exactly look away! Pervert!"

Zack's eye twitched. "I am a teenage guy…" He flailed his arms at her, his voice raising into a shout, "What the hell did you expect me to do? Why don't I shove shoes on sale in your face and expect you to just walk away?"

Pam growled, slapping his arms away from her as she shouted, "Oh my gosh, how stereotypical can you _be_? Who says I care about shoes?"

Zack's eyes took in her beat up, old white sneakers, and his eyes fell flat. "Ah, yes, I almost forgot you weren't a girl."

Pam smirked eagerly, her face turning smug as she announced in an amused rush, "Well then I guess that makes you gay! Ha!" She threw a finger in his face and exploded with laughter, suddenly finding the entire situation hysterical.

Zack balked, taken aback by this, before he just flittered his hand at her and turned away. "An imitation of a woman's body is still a woman's body—"

Before Pam could rage at this, Arnold finally cut in, flustered and looking thoroughly perturbed now, "Hold on, what exactly is going on here? Where do you two know each other?"

Pam opened her mouth to respond, but Zack beat her to it, "We met at school yesterday and she was at the party last night. That's all." His eyes remained narrowed. "And now apparently we're freaking neighbors." He snapped a glare in her direction, his fists clenching tight at his sides. "Stop invading my life!"

"Oh, like I did this on purpose," she spat.

"Well it's really starting to look that way," he yelled, getting in her face with his teeth bared in a scowl.

"Kids, kids," Arnold threw his arms in between them, really disturbed at seeing his son flying off the handle like this, "stop it! This is no way to be acting so early in the day! I have to drive you to school in five minutes, we don't have time for this. Zack," he looked to his son, having apparently forgotten all about being angry with him, much to his relief, "get everyone and put them in the car. You can bring along some food on the road, but you have to finish it in the car, okay?"

Zack made a point of not looking at Pam as he saluted his father and nodded. "Aye, aye, Football Head." Spinning on his heel, he marched purposely away before his father could lecture him about calling him that, only to stop in the doorway of the dining room when he saw Ham and Phil both freeze in their spots, caught in the act of eavesdropping. Zack blinked, finding this fact very interesting, and a slow smirk darkened his face as he took a step into the room, making them take a step back. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

Ham looked instantly away and Phil just stared at him.

Zack's eyes became hidden beneath his eyebrow, deep eyes darkening with a warning. His patience for the morning had run out. "I expect I won't have to tell you what will happen if you speak a word of this ever again." He took another step deeper into the room, but they didn't move this time, stunned as they were, and Zack leaned down into their faces, smirking. "Emphasis on the _ever_."

Ham just waved a quick hand at him and walked over to grab his waffle from the table, not wasting a second and his voice completely detached from the topic, "I didn't hear anything."

Phil stared up at him a moment longer, weighing his options, before he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever you say, Zack."

Zack leaned further into his face, his smirk falling. "'Sure'? I was hoping for something more definite than that." He was serious about this. He didn't want anyone speaking another word of what his deal was with that girl. That might lead to finding out about his grade, which would lead to snooping, which would lead to—He couldn't even think about it.

Phil pouted in his face, wishing he could use his dirt on him now just to wipe that look off his face. But he wanted to savor this, not waste it first thing in the morning when he was still tired and Ham was right there. Despite his displeasure, though, he was surprised. Zack rarely looked serious. Whatever was going on with that girl, it was big. He'd have to tuck this little piece of information away for future reference. Nodding his head, Phil grumbled, "I won't breathe a word." 'Breathe' being the operative word. He'd just have to remember to hold his breath the next he spoke of it.

Zack seemed pleased with this, though, the fool, and he stood back up. "Good." He grinned, looking back to his usual self instantly as if he hadn't just threatened them with the gallows. "Now you heard Pappy, make it snappy!" He clapped his hands and walked across the room to pick a dozing Amanda up from her chair. Holding her in his arms like a china doll, he walked out of the room to put her to bed. As soon as he was out of the room, Phil practically flew across the room and out the other door to sneak through the kitchen. He stealthily threw himself up against the wall by the door leading into the hallway, and listened keenly in on what their guest had to say.

"Well, you have to at least let me give you a ride." His father, on another thoughtless charity binge. Phil rolled his eyes.

"Oh, wow, could you? That would… actually be really incredible."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Oh, it's nothing, it's just, you know, new house, new neighborhood, uh… it's just great to get along with at least _one_ of my new neighbors."

"Yeah… I'm sorry about that. Zack usually doesn't act so… so much like a bully." The disturbed note in his father's words was humorous.

"Agh, he's not a bully. If anything, he probably thinks I'm his." There was a laugh at that, and Phil snuck a peak to see what he was dealing with. The first thing he noticed was the red hair, and his eyebrows furrowed. Zack never had liked red heads, it had been a fact he'd vaguely noticed over the years but never really thought anything about, but this called more attention to it. Phil made a note of this. The next he noticed was that she was pretty. Messy hair and clothes aside, her eyes were kind and open and her complexion clear and fair. Perhaps a bit average for Phil's taste, but Zack fancied himself the ladies man—the fact he'd be this on the outs with a pretty girl was curious. Phil tapped his chin, wondering. "What could she have done…?" he whispered to himself, squinting his eyes at her as if he could squeeze the secrets out of her through his eyelids.

His father talking again snapped him out of his thoughts and made him hide back against the wall again. "I can't see Zack ever being bullied." His father sounded amused just at the idea. "He's too self-assured of himself. Bullies go for the weak, and Zack's never been weak. You saw how he stood up for himself with you. He's a strong boy." His father was proud. Comical.

Maybe he was strong now, but not after Phil was done with him. He would make sure of that.

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><p><strong>AN: **So there it is. There is more written after this, but it all leads up to the climax thaaaat I'm having trouble writing. D: Reviews make me want to write a_ lot more_, though... :3 But you don't have to. D: BUT IF YOU WANTED TO—Okay, I'll shush now. xD

Oh, and that whole thing with Phil and the diarrhea medicine and Focaccia? Completely factual, based on a true story. e_e I was laying on the couch exhausted and all congested and my mom was like, "We're having Focaccia pizza for dinner! :'D" and I was just like, "-_- Sounds like diarrhea medicine." And my mom was like, "What?" 'cause the congestion made me sound like a bad Donald Duck impression, and I repeated myself and my brother was like, "Oh, she said she has diarrhea or something." And I spazzed out and was like, "NO! I said it sounds like diarrhea medicine!" And he still didn't hear me I guess 'cause he was like, "So take Pepto Bismol and shush!" and then my mom burst into laughter and I was just like, "FUUUUUUUUUU!" ...I just had to write it. xDDD *Slaps forehead*

Now I just wanted to mention that **starrynights1987** made a family crest for these guys on Deviant. :D It's friggin' awesome! High recommendation. Check it out!

Am I forgetting anything? Uh—OH YEAH! **Writergirl97** and I are doing a sort of Q&A thing on her fics and mine. We've been talking about it and we have a plan made up of how we're going to do it, so... ASK AWAY xD We'll be answering any and all questions at a later date, I guess. We're still working out the kinks. xD But basically, the questions can be about anything concerning these guys—the characters, her stories, my stories, or us as authors. Hell, the questions can even be directed at a specific character if you want. Like, you could be like, "YO, Phil, Y U SO SHORT? Y U NO WEAR STILTS?" You know. xD So if you're curious about anything, there ya go. *Shrugs* Should be fun. xD

And dat's it for now. x_X

_**REVIEW!**_


	12. The Phillip Fued

**A/N: **So yes, I am posting something completely unrelated to "Shortman Secrets." xD My kooky, nonsensical reasoning, you ask, O' Pitch Fork Wielders? Well, let's see...

I have a small fanbase on dA now. Like, they made a fanclub... Nope, it's not a joke. o_0 It was a surprise gift from **Panfla**, AKA the most amazing friend and sister evah, and it's literally been taking me forever just to process that it's there. xD Even now my words are a little detached from the topic 'cause it's the only way I can talk about it without twitching. xD Never expected anyone to shive that much of a git... ._.

But anyway, the entire thing has caused me to freak a little bit, 'cause I want to write something so bad. But the last bit of Zack's chapter has been taking a while (if you haven't noticed xD). I had to do a CRAP-LOAD of revising to make some scenes work and... I don't think I'll ever be the same again. ._. So much edits... Not good for souls... D:

BUT I MADE IT THROUGH XD I'm a survivor! I managed to finally make it work out (sorta), so it's all good now and I've moved on from it. But the thing is that I'm really busy this week because of school, but I still want to write for it, but it's still going to take a lot of writing to finish it up (so many butts, I hope there's not a crack in my logic here), and I just... don't have that time right now. BUT I STILL WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING ANDKANFLKNAFKLNALKDFNA

And thus this. xD I have a ton of unfinished One-Shots and crap in my files for this story, so I just picked one and worked with it. XD I've wanted to write this one for a while actually. X3 I haven't ever had to _seriously_ write out Bob and Phil's characters before now, though... so I hope it's okay. xD I'll prolly revise later, but that's later.

So, like, uh... there.

**I'll list any and all reviews given in Zack's final chapter.** :D They're always appreciated~ But never required. -.-**  
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**Disclaimer: **I don't own "HEY ARNOLD!" but I do own Zack, Phil, Ham, and Amanda. DE' MINE. XP Respect that shiz.**  
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**_Dedication:_ Panfla, writergirl97, starrynights1987, FnFiNdOART, metalheadrailfan, **and anyone else who's reviewed, but those guys especially.

THANKS FOR MAKING ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE AND LIKING MY CHARACTERS SO MUCH XD I'll rave more about you all in Zack's final chapter. x'D

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><p><strong>The Phillip Feud<strong>

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><p>Phil lay slouching in his giant green chair—<em>his<em> chair—in the living room, dozing off as the last of "Sullivan's Travels" played on the flickering screen of the television set. He was very nearly asleep, his hand gripped so possessively around a black mug—_his_ mug—beginning to slip as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The day, for the most part, had been peaceful and quiet, something Phil really valued in this house due to it's rarity. Zack wasn't running havoc, shooting off cheesy jokes, and giving him the world's biggest migraine, Amanda wasn't peeking her head in the doorway every five minutes to ask him dumb questions or ask him if he wanted to "play," and Ham wasn't bugging him about stealing the remote or anything. Of course, Phil knew why this was, but he was trying hard not to think about it. Instead he just tried to enjoy the present moment in peace.

So it was only natural that when the front door suddenly burst open and his great-grandfather bounded into the room with a, "Hey there, Short Man Junior," he jumped a foot in the air and yelped, bashing his cup against the side of his head.

Stars were exploding all around as Grandpa Phil stood over him with shock indented into his forehead, his twin brother standing beside him, though he was foggy and Phil couldn't remember him ever mentioning he had a brother. His grandfather's voice broke through his haze a little, coming as a far-off echo in his head, "Cheese and crackers, Phil, always so jumpy. We'll have to work on that."

Phil's head swayed, his vision swimming, before he managed to blink himself out of Wonderland and instantly tensed, his knuckles turning a steady white around his mug. He ground out as patiently as he could manage, "Don't… ever… do that again…"

Despite his words, though, the elder's only response was to chuckle, taking a step forward to sweep his bony fingers across his forehead and clear away his brown hair—_his_ hair—and squint to see if there were any cuts or bruises. He pursed his lips as he stared at his forehead, making Phil purse his lips right back. His grandfather winced a bit more visibly then. "Oooh, that'll leave a nasty goose egg. It's a good thing it was on the side where your hair hides your face or people might think you'd gotten into a brawl with the Man Lady." He chuckled again, lifting his hand away to stand up straight again.

Phil rubbed his head, staring dryly up at his grandfather. "Right, and Heaven knows I get into too many of _those_." He resisted rolling his eyes. His great-grandpa was almost always cheery when he was around him, cracking bad jokes that reminded him entirely too much of Zack to try to bring a smile to his face. Maybe that worked when he was a little kid, back when the world still made sense, but that Phil was long gone and he wasn't about to humor the man who was always trying to train him in the art of "Being Phil." He wondered if he'd like him nearly as much if his name was Wilbert or something, or if he was a blond. Sometimes he doubted that, which meant he was just a rare hair inheritance away from being chopped liver, but other times he didn't care just for the sake of having the attention. Right now, though, he'd just been shocked awake, probably gotten a concussion (which meant no sleeping for him, of course—joy), and was being forced to _talk to someone _when he wasn't even aware of what year it was yet. The last thing he was going to be was civil.

But his grandfather was no stranger to his sarcasm, and the only thing his joke caused was a smile to light up on his ancient face, wrinkles rising warmly around his mouth like a mocking emphasis that there was literally no way to bring this man down to earth. "Ah, come on," his grandpa teased, picking the mug out of his hands to sit it safely away on the coffee table, "don't be such a party pooper. You know I was only kidding."

"Right," Phil acknowledged, his face dropping it's sardonic charm, which was about all the apology the man was going to get.

Grandpa just chuckled again, before his eyes widened and cleared of amusement as he took in the youth's plain green striped pajama pants and white "Property of No One" t-shirt that hung disheveled over his boyish, eleven-year-old form. It looked like he'd only just gotten out of bed, but it was well into the afternoon. Grandpa's face turned troubled and he crossed his arms unconsciously. "Now, young Phil, don't tell me you've forgotten about our outing today."

Phil's eyes widened, suddenly a bit more alert as he sat up in his chair. "What outing? I didn't think—"

"Hey, hey, hey," a voice boomed from the kitchen that had both Phils grimacing, the owner walking into the room with a big bowl of popcorn and a small army's worth of Yahoos in his arms. Big Bob's face soured at seeing the old dinosaur zeroing in on his goods, and he walked purposely over to lay a hand on the back of Phil's chair, glaring at the old man. "Phillip _Bob_ and I were in the middle of watching some quality television. What are you doing here, geezer? Get lost." His eyes looked pointedly at Phil, before his eyes flickered in taking in the old black and white film flittering on the TV set. He strode forward and dumped the snacks on the coffee table gracelessly, glaring and pointing at the box as if it had offended him. "Whoa now, what is this? I had it tuned to channel nine!"

"You were taking centuries," Phil informed his other grandfather, looking completely uninterested in this situation now, his best poker face in play. He looked like he didn't want to be there at all, as if he couldn't care less for the mix-up that had apparently taken place, and both the elder Phil and Bob bitterly _knew_ in their minds it was of the other's fault that he was uncomfortable. Phil finished simply, "I just thought I'd rewatch some of my favorite scenes while I waited but you didn't come back."

"Bathroom break," Bob informed him casually, patting his exploding stomach.

Grandpa Phil chuckled, pointing a fond thumb at his protégé as he faced Bob. "He gets his taste in movies from me."

"Well he definitely didn't get it from me, I wasn't alive in the Triassic period," Bob stated gruffly, scowling slightly.

Grandpa Phil balked at the unnecessarily rude comment, before he scowled at him, pointing an almost scolding finger at the younger and infinitely more irritating man, "Now just wait a cotton picking minute—"

"You'll lose money that way, you know—"

"Why, you—you—you've got a lot of nerve—"

"You're one to talk, waltzing into another man's territory! I have dibs—"

This fighting went on like this for several minutes, while meanwhile Phil stared listlessly ahead of himself, his green eyes half-lidded. He could have dozed off again, he was so bored with this old, meaningless debate, when Grandpa Phil suddenly grabbed him by his arm and jerked him out of his chair, pulling his stumbling body towards the door. Grandpa scowled at his other grandpa while he yelled, making Phil wince, "He's named after _me, _I had plans with him first, and we're going fishing today!"

Bob growled a little and with surprisingly quick feet for his age, jumped forward to grab Phil's other arm to keep his other grandpa from pulling him out of the room. "He's named after me too, and he has _my_ brown hair!"

"He has _my_ brown hair!" Grandpa yelled back, tugging on Phil's arm, the preteen's eyes huge, "All you have is that thin, wispy gray hair!"

"Ha!" Bob scoffed, smirking aggressively as he gripped tight on Phil's arm and yanked him back towards him, making Grandpa stumble slightly. Bob chuckled a little deeply, a gravelly tone to his voice that had come with age, and his face viciously smug, "At least I have hair."

Grandpa gasped, letting go of Phil in his shock and causing him to spring back into Big Bob's lard-like body. He pointed a demanding finger at him, his eyes giant. "You take that back!"

Big Bob laughed smugly, steadying Phil and wrapping his fingers tight around his shoulders to keep him close. "Give it up, old man, I had him first. Helga and that Arnold boy have been out all day and they left me in charge of him, along with, uh… Zack and that… that… deli boy or whatever crap he wants to call himself."

"Ham," Grandpa corrected him with a disdainful sneer, putting his hands on his hips and standing to his full height. Since Bob had been getting shorter in his old age, the elder man had long decided to take advantage of this in these arguments, and he half-towered over the hulking midget who so prestigiously coined himself "Big Bob Pataki." His face lost some of it's intensity then, and he sighed out, trying to be reasonable, "Look, Big Bob, we're both grown ups here, let's act like it." He took a couple slow steps forward to reach a hand out towards Phil. "He's _my_ protégé, he has _my_ name, _I'm_ the one who asked for it and waited years for the opportunity—"

"I've been waiting too," Bob yelled, gritting his teeth as he yanked Phil back again, flopping a mop of brown hair over all of his face and making him huff.

"Not as long as me!" Grandpa yelled, leaning forward to cut his green eyes at him. "I already lost my chance with Arnold, and I didn't even think I'd be around for the next bunch, so don't you dare try to take this away from me! Wait another fifteen years for when the youngens are fully grown with kids of their own. Philly here can name his son after you, then you can lord over him—"

The room burst into flames.

"I will be doing no such thing," Phil suddenly exploded in a scream, pushing himself roughly out of Bob's hands and looking like he wanted to throw up. Both men instantly slapped their foreheads, knowing what was coming despite their many attempts in convincing him otherwise.

His back firmly to his grandfathers, the preteen growled, before snapping his head around to glare fiercely at them, his teeth chattering as they tried to clench tighter without shattering themselves in the process. His voice shook, "I won't be having any sons, or daughters, or _anything_—that requires the aid of a wife, and I have no interest in being under the thumb of a manipulative wench." He turned around then, his shoulders stiff with his eyes burning with contempt. His voice raised an octave and he flittered his hands in the air with an annoyed, dramatic flair, "I have said this copious amounts of times! Again and again and again, and yet you keep your ears glued shut to my wishes, too caught up in your own petty insecurities and obnoxious, egomaniacal needs! I am no one's pet! Do you see this face?" He pointed to his cold, unfeeling, palely tanned face. "It's _mine_." He grasped at his hair. "My hair is _mine_." He grabbed his t-shirt, spreading the wording out so it could be clearly red, and growled, "See this? 'Property of _No One_.' I don't care _who_ I'm named after—I am my own person. I could be named after Edgar Allan Poe, Neil Armstrong, _William Shakespeare_, and I _still_ would not care! A name is a name is a name." He bared his practically foaming teeth at them, his hands shaking as he held them up to them, fingernails posed upwards. "_Do you understand yet_?"

Both formally brunette men blinked, as if he'd just been speaking tongues for the past two minutes.

"Now, boy," Big Bob was the first to speak, using the years of family counseling under his belt to try to be reasonable with him, considering that had seemed to work with Helga, "you don't want to have a son who can inherit all your prized possessions and keep on the Pataki name?" He took a small step forward as if this was very important, and reminded him, "You did say you wanted to change your name to Pataki-Shortman." He pointedly didn't bring up that he wanted a long winded, crazy name to go along with it that excluded his own. He'd been spending more time with him like this to try to change his mind, and he was dead set on doing so. There was no question on whether or not he would succeed—_he would_.

"I did," Phil acknowledged, his face calm for a moment before it inflamed again. "And of course I do," he snapped in response to having a son, his entire body like an angry rod waiting for lightning to strike. "What sane man doesn't want his legacy to continue?" His eyes went dry then. "But a minute of pride in the interest of carrying on a name that will already be carried on with or without me isn't worth a lifetime's worth of degradation and dread." He was really glad Zack wasn't here to hear that. He would have cut in with a, "But you're not sane nor a man," and that wouldn't have gotten his point across very well. Phil was quite proud of himself for his intelligent explanation, and he stood a bit taller before his grandpas, crossing his arms.

The two men simply stared at him, though, dumbfounded. After a second they both shot vicious glares at each other and yelled over each other, "This is all your fault!" Phil slapped his forehead.

"I finally get sons out of that weird football headed kid and here he doesn't even want to have kids," Bob yelled into Grandpa Phil's face, snapping his jaw. "He definitely didn't inherit that from me!"

"He didn't get it from me," Grandpa Phil yelled, the backs of his wrists still resting on his sides and his eyebrows furrowed straight down. "If he got it from anyone it was your side of the family! I saw the way you treated your wife before you got all that fancy counseling—you have no respect for women!"

"Oh, and like I didn't ever hear about that car show where you tried to cheat on your wife!" Bob sneered, methodically cracking the bones in his fingers at his sides. "I may not be the most attentive but at least I'm faithful!"

"I never did anything of the sort," Grandpa raged, almost beastly offended now at the accusation. "It was the Jolly Olly Man, for prune's sake! And I wasn't ever going to do anything! I love Pookie, we've been married for longer than I can even remember—"

"I remember my anniversary," Bob huffed smugly, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Ohhh, no you don't." Grandpa Phil rolled his eyes. "You can't even remember your own daughter's name half the time, or your grandsons.' The only reason you remember Phil's is because he has your name as a middle name."

"I remember Zack—" Bob protested, before Grandpa cut him off with a, "Because he has your unibrow!"

"Amanda Faith!" Bob smugly assessed like he'd just listed the first hundred digits of pi in perfect sync, but Grandpa just scoffed out with a, "She reminds you of Olga. That's the only reason you remember."

Bob growled, looking like he wanted to strangle the old man. "Joshua Abraham—"

Grandpa cut him off before he could even finish, "Oh, of course you remember his real name, but not his preferred name, not the thing that actually means something to him, because _you_ don't like it. You don't care about his feelings, you just care about the trophies lining his walls. You're a selfish, proud man and no therapist can ever change that!" He waved his finger furiously in his face.

Bob stood gobsmacked a moment, before he growled, slapping his bony hand out of his face so he could scowl properly as he snapped back, "I'm selfish and proud? At least I wasn't begging on my knees to have my grandson be named after me!"

"Oh, we all know you were in Helga's ear about that—"

"Whoa, whoa, that's enough!" Bob put his foot down, his teeth clenched at the old geezer's audacity. "Fifty bucks richer or poorer, it doesn't change anything! He still has my name, and that is that!" He pointed his finger commandingly in his wrinkled, raisin of a face. "Now look you old bat, he's inheriting Big Bob's Beeper Emporium whether you like it or not! He's the only one with the name to uphold it!"

Phil huffed, leaning back with his arms crossed, simply amazed at the other man's stupidity. He responded with furrowed brows and a firm, strong tone, one used to scold little boys and yell hoodlums away from his property, "No, he's inheriting the boarding house! He's the only one with the smarts and devilish good looks to do it!"

"I don't want to do any of these things," Phil suddenly interjected once more, flailing his arms about. "I want to be a famous actor, director, and writer! I want to appear in inspirational, high action films that change the world and stand the test of time! I don't want to waste my days keeping some run down little beeper store afloat or a century-old boarding house full of crazy people—"

"You and me both," Grandpa Phil commented, looking a tad agonized and nodding his head in sad relation. He looked back to Big Bob, putting a hand to his chest in an almost touched fashion. "He got that from me."

Bob slapped him with his eyes.

Phil's eye twitched, his stiff body shaking for a few tense seconds before a star exploded into a black hole somewhere in the universe and he suddenly relaxed and a careless expression appeared on his face. He turned away from them to sit back in his chair, waving his hand at them. "Okay, I give up, carry on."

And carry on they did. The short, hulking monster of a man and the tall, boney goblin sneered and growled every insult in the book at each other. It had never been a secret that the two men didn't care for each other, but the marriage of Helga and Arnold and the birth of Phil had only seemed to put them even opposite of each other. Both Arnold and Helga were always rubbing their temples over it, and made sure to be out of the house as much as possible when either man wanted to come over to visit. Granted Big Bob had been much better over the years, and now his forgetfulness was mostly akin to age alone, but Grandpa Phil still didn't like him, especially not now that he kept trying to claim _his_ protégé. And Big Bob didn't understand why the old fart couldn't accept that he'd had his turn, shut up, and let him have _his_ heir. The old man had had enough grandsons and daughters, Olga had been a failure more than once in that department and now that Helga had finally given him what he'd always dreamed the most of, _sons_, he'd be damned if he was going to let the old cod steal that away. Middle name or not, _it was legit_. The papers had been signed and sealed and he'd just have to deal with it.

The debate on where he'd inherited the brown hair had been going on ever since it had been confirmed he was indeed brunette. Out of all their arguments, those were some of the most colorful, the one that invoked the most vicious insults and longest debates, and was the one central argument that all of their encounters inevitably seemed to lead to. Mainly because it was impossible to know. His hair had traits from both of them, and they'd both had the same shade of brown hair as kids. If anything, he had a combination of both of their hair—but there was no way in hell they'd ever accept _that_.

Phil sat on the couch with the bowl of popcorn in his lap, throwing a piece up and catching it in his mouth every few minutes as he waited out the show.

"You're a gambling, big-headed oaf—"

"Hey now, I have the money, why the heck can't I have a little fun? It's not like I've been trying to teach any of my grandsons how to play poker—"

"We've been betting gumdrops and gummy bears! At least I have sense enough not to wear those giant, tacky white belts—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Big Bob shouted, actually stomping his foot on the ground to silence him. "Don't you talk about my big white belts to me like that! You're just sore 'cause you couldn't force him into those ridiculous suspenders of yours—"

"Still better than wearing a lead-thick, blindingly white belt—"

"I swear, I could sell tickets," Phil commented to himself, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth.

"My brown hair was fluffy," Grandpa shot.

"Mine was twice as fluffy, that's why women loved me," Bob shot back.

Stella passed by the hall and overheard them, having driven Grandpa Phil there so she could pick up Amanda for a little girl time. After standing in the doorway staring at them in amusement for a few moments, Amanda clinging to her leg and staring in with slight annoyance at the unnecessary fighting, Stella chuckled and cut in, "Hey, who's to say he didn't get the brown hair from me?"

Both Grandpa and Bob snapped their eyes to her, their faces blank as they listlessly informed her, "Your hair is too light."

Stella sighed, rolling her eyes with a small, amused quirk of her red lips. "Whatever you say, boys." Glancing down mischievously at Amanda, she quietly asked while the two grown men continued with their little slap fight, "You wanna ditch 'em?"

Amanda looked eagerly up at her, nodding her head in frustration. "_Yes_."

Phil watched in alarm as the two girls disappeared from sight and he heard the front door open and close. In an instant he was out of his chair and racing out of the room and into the hall to yell, "Wait! Take me with you!"

"_Good_ morning!" a voice suddenly called from the top of the stairs, causing Phil's pupils to dilate as he literally threw himself at the door and started twisting at the knob. "No, seriously, come back! I'll go shoe shopping or whatever, I don't care, just take me with you!"

A tall shadow cast over the door amidst his struggle, and Phil froze before snapping around in horror to see none other than his older brother grinning drearily down at him.

"It's hot today," Zack commented in his half-zombie state, still grinning that big goober grin of his that made Phil want to smack him.

"That's because it's the afternoon, Sleeping Ugly," Phil replied as emotionlessly as possible, his tone a tad dry as he tried to appear composed with a frustrated pout. Zack really wasn't that bad a brother, but he was ridiculously irritating and seemed to get a kick out of messing with him. He'd been asleep all day so far, and now that he was awake, Phil knew the rest of the day was going to be ten times more exhausting than it was now with his grandparents fighting.

Speaking of which, a particularly loud bellow suddenly enveloped the house, making both boys jump, "His middle name is _Bob_!"

"It's Robert, and his first name is Phil! First comes _first_!"

Zack grimaced. "Oh, criminy, not this again. I thought Grandpa'd left."

"Maybe you should go back to bed," Phil stated, innocently enough. It was possible his Saturday was still salvageable if the remote hog was still incapacitated.

Much to Phil's chagrin, Zack just smirked at him slightly, seeing right through him. "Can't. I told you it's hot, I think the AC's out. I need to get the keys to downstairs so I can fix it." A loud crash sounded from the living room, this time only causing Zack's smirk to strengthen. He threw a thumb back over his shoulder, indicating the living room, and said, "And I assume one of those lugs has the keys, right?"

Phil hesitated, before forcing out a weak, grim nod.

Zack shook his head, hair swinging. "Then there's no way in hell. Sorry to break it to you, but I'm awake." He yawned, stretching his arms up high over his head. Smacking his mouth a little, he looked down to take in Phil's disheveled pajamas and smirked once more. "And it looks like you're just as begrudgingly conscious as I am." Phil's eyes fell flat.

"Boy," Bob's voice suddenly shouted from behind the teenager, causing Zack to wince, his shoulders tensing, before he ruefully turned around to face the old, balding man. Big Bob's eyes were wide and narrow, and Zack held back a grimace as the man inevitably grumbled before asking, "What's your name again?"

Zack pursed his lips, before a grim smirk overtook his face and he fell into a deep, lazy bow. "Persephone Binglebottom, at your service."

Before Bob could respond to that, Phil scoffed from behind him and commented, feeling the irresistible urge to inform him of his idiocy, "That sounds ridiculous."

Despite his tone, Zack just stood back up straighter and turned his head around to smirk at him. "I kid you not, I heard someone with that name once."

"Oh please," Phil sneered incredulously, "Where? On a cartoon?"

Zack snorted, waving his head to the ceiling as he drawled, increasing in pitch, "_Please_…" he grinned goofily, turning his body slightly to face him halfway, before his grin turned smirky, "I haven't watched cartoons since I was a week younger. Since they stopped showing reruns of Pop Daddy on Sick at Night." He pouted.

Big Bob looked between the two boys, mentally berating himself for not being more adamant that Helga marry that weird brain boy. He may not have been much to look at, but at least he wasn't a football head, and nerds made especially good workers. Plus the kids would have been much quieter. Which, as these kids grew older, was looking more and more appealing a trait in grandkids. Not to mention he wouldn't have to deal with that old fossilized hunk of bony flesh. He pursed his lips at that last thought. Damn. He sighed, shaking his head at them, "Seriously, what's your name? And no funny business this time, or else I'll invest in having your name legally changed to Persephone."

"Zack," the teenager quickly corrected himself, knowing not to take what his blowhard grandfather had to say with a light heart.

"Right," Bob half-grumbled under his breath, committing that to memory best he could as he rubbed his chin with his forefinger. Putting a fist to his mouth to clear his throat then, he stood up straighter and asked, "Zack, you're good at fixing things, right?"

"Uh—" Before Zack could sputter a decent response, Bob continued with, "That thick-headed toothpick you call your great-grandpa just broke the TV remote." He held up the remote to the teenager, taking a few steps over so he could take a closer look. Zack picked it up reluctantly, taking in with some disturbance how it had broken literally in half down the center.

Grandpa Phil came angrily walking in the next second, glaring at Big Bob as he corrected, "He threw it, I just dodged it. He's the one who broke it, the bad-tempered—"

"I don't wanna hear another word out of you," Bob stated gruffly, snapping his teeth down like a piranha. His voice came out as a deep, almost childish whine, frustrated beyond measure, "Thanks to you now I'm going to miss the big Wrestlemania match between Man Lady and the Systematic Cyclops!"

Grandpa's eyes widened, his mouth falling open in shock. "That was today?"

Bob nodded ruefully, turning his head to look at him. "The last rematch before both of them retire."

A violent gasp ripped from Grandpa's throat, before he flew forward madly and grabbed Zack by his shoulders, shaking him so hard his head spun. "Zack, you have to fix the remote now! This is a once in a lifetime event, bigger than Sally's comet and the Venus transit _combined_! We can't miss it!"

"Yeah," Bob added on desperately, grabbing Zack by his arm and tugging it, "I'll give you a twenty if you can fix it in the next two minutes! I have money riding on this, uh…" he blinked, before his eyes went huge in their urgency, slightly abashed, "whatever your name is!"

"Okay, okay, okay," Zack yelled quickly, his voice warbling from being shaken back and forth before both men thankfully let go of him. Sighing out in relief, Zack looked up at his two moony-eyed grandfathers, seeing how they were holding their breaths, before he chuckled quietly and shook his head slightly. He took a quick glance at the inside mechanisms of the remote, making sure everything was still in order, before he, quite simply, clicked the two pieces back together and handed it back to them. "There."

Both men blinked, before Bob reached forward and took the remote. Blinking again, he raised half of his brow at him and asked, "That's it?"

Zack clasped his hands together in front of himself, nodding his head. "You think you're the first to throw that thing across the room?" He smirked. "It's easily repaired. Dad's done it a million times."

"Well, I'll be," Grandpa Phil commented, scratching his head. A moment later, he chuckled, a twinkle in his ever-youthful eyes. "You kids are crazier than I thought."

"Yeah, yeah," Bob waved this off, fiddling with the remote to make sure the light was working when he pressed down on certain buttons, "we have a wrestling match to—" He suddenly groaned, grabbing hold of his stomach as he heaved over forward. Clenching his eyes shut, he growled, "Mother scratcher! Darn raspberries…"

The elder Phil's eyes widened, leaning over slightly to look him in the eye as he asked, "You ate raspberries?"

Bob nodded, prying one of his eyes open to look at him. "Yeah, Miriam made me a smoothie last night after dinner, and of all the things she could have picked, it was stinking raspberries." He groaned again, leaning back up as his stomach contents sloshed and disturbing parts of himself roared in protest. He ran his hands down over his stomach, grimacing. "Can never trust fruit nowadays. They always give me horrible gas." He furrowed his eyebrow down, looking in slight bewilderment to the other man. "That and ribs, weirdly enough."

Grandpa Phil nodded his head, patting him on the back. "Same here. I'd sooner eat my foot than I'd eat those little, red devils." Raising a finger to the air, he told him, "My father always said, 'Never eat raspberries.'"

"Smart guy." Bob grimaced, groaning again as it occurred to him, "Now I'm gonna miss the match for sure!"

"Oh, don't worry, since I've gotten older I've started carrying around Gas-X. Also laxatives. You can take your pick."

"Hey, thanks. Some meds would be great right about now." The two men started wandering into the living room, before they stopped and looked over towards Phil, apparently having forgotten about him. Bob asked, "Hey, you coming or not, Junior?"

Phil looked at them humorlessly, his voice flat, "Wrestlemania stinks."

Both men froze in place as soon as those words hit their ears, eyes blinking over and over as if they were having problems processing that that phrase even existed. After a few tense seconds where Zack eyed them with interest, wondering what they'd do, and Phil just held his ground with a discontented pout on his face, the two elderly men exploded with laughter.

"Oh-ho, that's a good one!" Grandpa Phil cackled, making Bob slap a hand on his back as they both practically cried with laughter.

"I know, what a crock that is!" Bob hooted as the two of them continued into the living room, their voices carrying over into the hallway.

"Wrestlemania stinks! Hehe, he's just as insane as Arnold was as a boy!"

"Yeah, our family is a bunch of maroons! Doesn't like wrestling or girls or anything—just wait 'til he hits puberty, he'll have another thing coming."

"Oh, I know, I was a real lady killer in my day! I had them eating out of the palms of my hands."

"I had charm coming out of my ears at that age! I practically had to pry 'em off with a crowbar!"

The sounds of Wrestlemania's staged violence and ringing bells sounded then amidst their hollering, leaving the two boys alone in the hall.

There was a quiet between the two brothers for an indefinite amount of time, where Zack was trying ridiculously hard not to laugh and Phil just didn't care enough to comment. Soon enough, Zack cackled a little quietly and said lowly, "Well that was unexpected." An almost giddy smirk whisked across his face then as he placed his hands on his hips and looked down at his little brother. "Well, I've told you a hundred times, baby bro, things always work out for the—"

"Don't," Phil cut him off with a roll of his eyes, turning around to inspect the front door. His voice came out plain, "You just watch them go back to hating each other the next time someone asks where I got the brown hair from." Noticing the lock clicked into place, Phil reached up and unlatched it.

Zack raised half of his brow at him. "Where are you going, little man?"

Phil opened the door and took a step outside, turning around as he began slowly closing the door behind himself as he answered, "To take a long, hard look at my life…" he scowled, "again."

The door slammed shut.

Zack blinked, a slow devilish smirk taking claim of his mouth. "I wonder how long it'll take him to realize he just went outside in pajamas and bunny slippers."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Ah, old people... bonding over spandex, sweat-flinging violence and medication... xD Good times...

_**REVIEW!**_


	13. Looking Up Part 5

**A/N: **Psht, I hate this chapter. I'll be honest, I just don't like it. :P I re-worked it and I re-worked it and I cut out scenes, re-wrote entire concepts, and NOTHING CAME OUT RIGHT. DNAKDNLANDLAKNLDNA It got too long, and it's mostly angst, WAY too complicated, and just bla. The world's biggest headache, ladies and gentlemen. -_- Ugh, my brain hurts. *Rubs temples* "Shortman Secrets" is all about foundation, though, so... I got what I wanted at least. :P Hope you guys can find _something_ good here. XD So far you've been blowing my mind. I love you guys :'D I'LL MAKE UP THIS CRAPPY CHAPTER FOR YOU GUYS~ Seriously. I will. I'll make it my mission. u_u

**OH BTW SINCE THIS CHAPTER GOT SO LONG I SPLIT IT UP INTO TWO MWAHAHAHA! SUFFA, SUFFA MY DAHLINGS~**

**~Gorgeous, Ridiculously Sexeh People~**

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ALL OF YOU. I LOVE ALL OF YOU. I WANT TO HUG YOU UNTIL YOU'RE EITHER BEHIND ME OR GROUND TO A FINE PASTE. NFKNFLANKLDNLAkflandada

Okay, creepy moment over. Let's move on. xD

"_Courage isn't an absence of fear. It's doing what you are afraid to do. It's having the power to let go of the familiar and forge ahead into new territory_."

—John Maxwell

**Important Disclaimer: **I run this sh*t. _Respect_. Seriously. Or I'll hunt you down like a spider in a flea circus. As a whole, I don't own "HEY ARNOLD!" though. xD

**Warning: **Brief violence. The beginning of this chapter is not a pretty thing to read. There is a lot of angst in this, but it gets a lot better as you go on. Proceed with caution, ducklings.

* * *

><p><strong>Looking Up<strong>

**Part 5  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Zack crumpled to the ground from the sheer force of the blow, taking sharp breaths from the pain in his side. Okay, not the best way to start out. "Come on," he rasped, trying to push himself off the ground with only one arm, "I just wanted to talk!"<p>

August laughed his bellowing laugh and grabbed him up by his collar, forcing him back against the side of the dumpster. His lips smirked. "Yap, yap, yap—what are words but the postponing of actions?" His fist tightened around his collar.

Zack choked, unable to hold himself up properly with only one hand. He kicked his legs, trying to find some kind of footing. "I could have you arrested," he tried to threaten, though it came out as a weak plea.

It was a bad move, because August's smug eyes instantly became black. He threw him down against the pavement, the skin of his arm scratching against the rough concrete as August stood over him with his beefy fists clenched tight. "You like stating the obvious, don't you," August breathed fiercely, "well then, here's an obvious fact," he grabbed him by his cast and lifted him into the air, enjoying his silent screams, "I could crush you into the wall if I wanted!" Demonstrating this fact, he grabbed his other arm and forced him against the fence, rattling it like a snake's tail as he forced him against it, denting the metal with his body. "Nobody would know, short man! Nobody would go looking for you! Nobody cares what happens to you!" His furious face sneered directly into his fearsome one. "You've seen the way they look at you," he spoke of their class, "you've seen how much they hate you with your big ugly eyebrow. I could make you disappear in a pinch and _no one would know_. See how much help the police are then."

Zack trembled at his words. He was right. No one in his class cared about him, they probably didn't even know his name. But they didn't hate him. Zack refused to believe August's words. He couldn't believe him. He'd seen his family going crazy over him just yesterday, and his mother had fussed with him all night, his brothers were horrified—he couldn't taunt him about whether or not people cared anymore. He had something to fight for now. His face strengthening, Zack forced through his teeth, "They don't hate me, they hate _you_."

August's eyes widened, no doubt shocked by his words, especially since he hadn't been this chatty in months. As it processed, his eyebrows dug into the mud brown of his inflamed irises. With a jerk of his fist, Zack was sprawled across the pavement on his back, his head hitting the back of the dumpster and making his head spin. As August took a step towards him, Zack cowered on instinct, and August stopped in an instant. A smirk curled his lips and he nodded his head, satisfied with his work. He checked his watch then. Recess would be over in ten minutes, and he had a swing reserved. "All right, Shortie," he took the final steps over to him and grabbed his good arm, lifting him up just enough to grin into his dazed face, "as soon as recess is over, I'm going to get a pen and sign your cast." He let go of him then and walked away, back out into the open grounds of the playground, tossing over his shoulder, "Be ready."

Something snapped in Zack's mind in that moment, something strange overwhelming him. He could see his entire future flashing before his eyes, years of torture like this until finally his parents found out, his brothers knew—and there would be nothing left of him but a few pathetic flowers on a gravestone. He could see the small turnout of his family, no friends to be seen, and his parents never being able to get over the grief. Perhaps it was an exaggeration, perhaps he was just overly paranoid, but the images haunted him. His body was aching, his arm throbbing, the world spinning, but he could barely control himself. With no little amount of struggle, Zack forced himself up off the ground and went running out from behind the dumpster, catching himself as he tripped over his own feet. Right in front of everyone, with August already deep in a sea of children, Zack shouted, "Hey August!"

August froze, before he turned his head around with a raised eyebrow and a controlled expression. "Yes, Zack?"

Zack smirked. "Your shoe's untied."

* * *

><p>"She's <em>what<em>?" Zack exploded, his backpack falling away off his shoulder and dropping like an oversized grenade onto the ground. Everything was ringing in his ears, and the backpack falling sounded like a nuclear bomb.

Arnold remained unimpressed. "I'm driving her to school. It was the least I could do after the…" he hated even bringing it up, "incident," he settled.

Zack cringed at the reminder of the life-scarring event, before his eyes popped open wide and he made a point, lifting his finger up like a true diplomat, "But the car can barely hold Phil, Josh and I! How do you expect to be able to squeeze Pam in along with us?"

Arnold blinked at this, seeing his point, but it was easily resolved. "Okay," he said slowly, before he smiled, a tad smug though you had to squint to see it in his half-lidded face, "then you'll just have to give her your seat."

Incredulity zinged across his face, and in an instant he was yelling, "Then where am I supposed to sit?"

Arnold waved him off easily, turning around to unlock the car door. "We'll just tie you up on the hood. You'll be fine." He chuckled.

Zack's face soured. "There has to be some kind of law against this. I'm sure this must fall under the heading of Child Abuse."

"Oh, just shut up already," Pam yelled, popping her head up from the other side of the car to glare at him. "It's like a ten minute ride to the school—it's not going to kill you! Stop being such a little whiner."

"I'm not a whiner!" he raged, shooting forward to stand against the other side of the car to glare at her closer. "I just don't think it's a good idea to have a wild animal locked into a car with children on board!"

"And yet he still drives you everywhere," Pam sighed wistfully, looking over at Arnold who was leaning against the side of the car amused, "You, sir, are a saint."

Arnold burst into deep laughter, before he just settled on a grin and moved away from the car. "You don't have to tell me." He got into the car, and with a click of a switch the rest of the locks shot open. Phil pushed Zack out of the way so he could open the door for himself, and Zack's teeth chattered in tune with his emotions as he ripped open his father's door again. "You didn't answer where I'm supposed to sit, O' Master," he snapped sarcastically.

Arnold looked up at him, unconcerned with his look, and just smiled, patting the seat beside him. "Shot gun."

Zack's eyes widened, his annoyance immediately forgotten. He couldn't keep the hopeful note out of his voice, "Really?" His father never let any of them sit up front. Something about the back being safer, and the airbag being deadly to shorter people. Zack had been more than tall enough to handle it ever since puberty, but his dad was still adamant about keeping him as safe as possible. Zack always got the sense his dad was paranoid, and his mother was overprotective, so the two of them together was a big parental pain the butt. This was shocking, to say the least. But in the best way possible. He almost had to curse himself for asking, for fear his father would change his mind.

But no, Arnold just continued to smile at him, and he nodded his head. "Like Pam said, it's only a ten minute drive. Hop in." He reached out to slam the door shut, and Zack took a couple steps back.

It only took a second more for it to sink in, before an ear-splitting grin spread across his face. In a suddenly fantastic mood, Zack bounded backwards, grabbing up his backpack in the process, before running over to slide across the hood of the car to the other side. Landing on his feet, he opened the car door and slid into the seat beside his dad, who was looking at him disapprovingly. He didn't even care, though, as he looked in wonder all around the front part of the car he was determined to one day own. "Ahhh…" laughing, he laid back in his seat, put his hands behind his head with his bag beside him in the seat, and sighed happily, "I feel like a big boy."

"Man," Phil started with wide eyes as he leaned forward to look at him incredulously, "you just cleaned the car off with your _butt_."

"And a fine job I did, Philly."

Arnold reached forward to smooth out his eldest son's sunshine hair, before he took hold of it by the roots and pulled him to sit upright with a firm grip, just gentle enough not to really hurt him. "Never do that again," he instructed dryly, before he smoothed his hair back out and pointed to his seat belt. "Put that on, and don't put the front part behind yourself."

Zack nodded and swiftly did so, adjusting the part of the belt going across his chest so it wasn't digging into him. He couldn't seem to find a comfortable angle with it, though, so he gave up and just allowed it to run straight across the top of his chest, unnervingly close to his neck. Zack hated barriers and feeling like he was trapped. But a little discomfort was more than worth sitting up front and his grin remained undimmed.

As their father pulled them out of the driveway and began down the road, Pam felt the need to comment, a bit sarcastic, "You're getting this excited just over sitting in the front seat?"

Zack turned around to look at her, still with that grin. Not even she could ruin this for him, and he just chuckled, "Simple pleasures, Ms.—" he stopped suddenly, and he raised half his eyebrow at her, "What is your last name?"

Pam's eyes widened, but before she could answer him, Phil suddenly burst into song, "You can offer me a diamond plated pearl, you can send me all the riches in the world! You can tempt me with the palaces of kings! I'd give them back in a big old sack and keep the simple things!" Phil burst into laughter, nearly falling in Pam's lap as he heaved himself forward. "I couldn't resist! I just—I just thought of that again!"

Everyone instantly exploded into laughter along with him, Arnold shaking in his seat, Zack slapping his knees and Ham running his hands down his face as he practically cried from the hilarity. Phil got over his laughter before the rest of them and was just smiling in his seat, the disturbingly chipper little thing he was in the mornings, while meanwhile Pam was sitting in the middle of it all utterly confounded.

"Uh—" she began awkwardly.

"I can't believe you kids still remember that!" Arnold interrupted her without realizing, unable and unwilling to hold back his grin as he looked back at his children.

"Who could forget Mr. Hyunh's epic single?" Ham laughed in the back, leaning forward to grab onto the back of Zack's seat and support himself.

Zack threw his head back, palming his eyes as he laughed. "Holy crap, best discovery ever! I still can't believe he can sing like that!"

"Whatever happened to the CD?" Phil asked, his eyes widening a bit.

Arnold was the one to answer, "It's probably still in the attic."

Zack snapped his head over to his father, and he stated enthusiastically, "We have to find that again! I've already forgotten so many of the words!"

"Oh, I remember it from front to back," Phil informed him casually, silently offering to teach it to them again.

Pam had already proceeded to shrink down in her seat at all this "family reminiscing," so when they all suddenly burst into country singing, she didn't know what else she could do but purse her lips and try to visualize someplace far away. Mexico, perhaps, with those giant headphones that take up practically all of your head blasting in her ears. This family was clearly just as madly insane and random as Zack, and she didn't know quite how to handle it when she was feeling so immensely out of the loop (the fruit loop, she thought amusedly). That is until they started singing the chorus again and it finally clicked with her what song they were singing. Her eyes lit up, and the laugh that burst from her was completely involuntary, "Hey, I think I know this song!"

Ham stopped singing and looked over at her, his gorgeous blue eyes still bright. "You do?" he humored her.

She glanced over at him, and a hint of nervousness came over her as she realized she was sitting leg-to-leg with a young Adonis, before she nodded, still excited. "Yeah, 'The Simple Things,' right? I heard it on the radio once when I was a kid! I haven't heard it in years." She was suddenly confused again, and she looked around at them all. "Do you guys know the artist or something?"

"Oh, yes," Zack said in a deep tone, turning around in his seat to look at her from under his eyebrow, "our dad grew up with him."

Pam's green eyes went huge, and her lungs deflated in an instant. Her voice was a little hoarse, "He huh?"

"And that's not even the best part!" Phil burst into the conversation, wanting to be the one to tell, as he always had to be with this story. His eyes burned with the prospect of retelling one of his favorite stories of his family, especially since it always freaked people out. "The singer is a Vietnamese man!"

And the girl did not disappoint. Pam looked at him like his brain had just popped out his ear and tap danced on his shoulder. He was accustomed to this, though, and he just shook his head, smirking, and added, "He has a really thick accent, too. He grew up in Vietnam and had to leave because of the war. Dad grew up with him in the boarding house our family owns, and he's the one who got him to record the song and get it on the radio."

"What?" Pam looked between him and Mr. Shortman, a bit distressed with the urge to know whether or not this was true or the kid really was insane. Based on her observations the night before with him yelling at people and downing the fruit punch like he was thirsting to death (or had to refill his fruit cup fuel, she thought—man, these fruit jokes were just never ending, weren't they?), she couldn't be sure.

But no, Arnold just cast a glance back at her, his face warm and nodded his head before turning back around. He offered no further words, though, and the tension on Pam's face intensified. "_Well_?" she stressed, not one for subtle hints.

Ham from beside her leaned his arm on the armrest attached to his car door and looked over at her calmly, a relaxed smile on his face as he inquired, "What do you want to know?" Ham was the storyteller of the family usually, as he'd spent most of his younger years stocking up and asking as many questions as possible in his impossible enthusiasm. Despite his claims of his family being mad, he loved hearing their stories, and nobody was surprised that he kept humoring her curiosity.

Except Pam, who snapped her head to him in startlement. He was really going to have to start giving her warnings if he was going to talk to her or sit next to her or… exist… anywhere. Coughing a little, she grinned nervously and said, "Okay, here's a start…" she leaned closer to him, and she nudged him with her elbow, her voice lowering, "is it just me or is that kid a few raspberries short of a bushel—"

In an instant, Ham's eyes were dinner-plate sized and he was slapping a hand across her face. "Shhh…" he said a bit frantically, cringing, "do _not_ let him hear you say that. It is way too early." He gave her a serious look. "Now, if I let your mouth go, will you promise not to speak of… or any fruit in general, again?"

Pam could only manage a weak nod.

Ham sighed and let her go, leaning back in his seat in relief. "Good." Noticing her rigid posture then, he eyed her blank expression, trying to figure out what her problem was. "What?"

Pam's laugh was hoarse and sounded a lot more like she was choking than laughing. She couldn't even manage the nerve to grimace at herself, so she just confessed tremulously, "You're really attractive."

Ham blinked at her, his face blanking out, before a small grin colored his face and he chuckled quietly. He didn't look surprised at all, and Pam suddenly found herself wondering how many other girls had told him that before. She blushed, and all he had to say was, "Thanks." Pam just blushed more.

Zack suddenly snapped his fingers from the front seat, as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh yeah…" Turning around in his seat, he smacked his lips a little and pointed to Ham, his voice perfectly casual, "he has a miniature shrine to some chick in his desk drawer." Pausing, he seemed to contemplate a moment before he added, looking at Pam, "He also snores like a horse."

Ham's face practically exploded with blushing and his pupils went to the size of ants. "_Zack_!" he screeched, nearly scaring Arnold enough to veer off the road. He caught himself at the last minute, though, and Zack just smiled at Ham.

He shrugged. "Sorry, bro," he turned his smirky face on Pam, "just trying to save a young fool from too much heartache." He leaned in a bit closer to her startled face, a finger poised at Ham, "That's tainted goods, girly. Try some lamb instead."

Arnold put a hand to his chest to calm his heart, and looked behind at them all with round, alarmed eyes. "Please, what have I said about violent outbursts in the car?"

"But Dad, he—" Ham tried to say, his face bright red and nearly matching his shirt.

He was interrupted by Pam's incredulous voice, "A shrine? What girl?"

Zack laughed at the questions. "Hell if I know, Ham may be good at sports, but he's horrible with art. It looked like a five-year-old's imitation of a Picasso!"

Ham didn't think it was possible to sink any lower in his seat, but he was practically with his back to where his butt should be now, his face inflamed. Zack gave him a closer look. Okay, he was still breathing, so he didn't shock him too bad. Zack didn't mean to humiliate him but Phil had practically threatened his life last night when he told him to fix it. This was the fastest and most effective method, and besides, maybe it would interest Pam enough that she'd leave him alone about his grade and start madly questioning Ham like he was a mental patient. After all, Ham liking a girl wasn't a big deal, it'd be forgotten within a day—Zack writing poetry, though? That would go down in the history books.

Ham didn't know about any of this, though, and he opened his mouth again to rage once more when his father suddenly snapped a warning look on him. He shut his mouth, and it was at that moment they all realized Arnold had come to a stop in front of the High School. With the car still running, Arnold stayed turned around to them all and said, starting to sound as tired as he felt, "All right, everyone out. I still need to drop Phil off and get to work at least a _little_ on time."

Now it was Zack's turn to sink down in his seat, in both relief and dread. She hadn't said a single word about the grade the entire drive here. It was nothing short of a miracle, but Zack wasn't about to question it. He had bigger things to worry about, like how he was going to avoid her for the entire school day. His eyes shifted over to take in the large, red doors of the High School and he should have been so much more comforted. The High School was huge, and yet Zack wasn't even a little confident. It was the first time in a long time, and though he was careful to keep the fear out of his face, he knew his pupils were no doubt microscopic, if not utterly shot.

He was shocked out of it by his car door opening, and Ham's large hand suddenly grabbing him by his arm and dragging him up to the school. Zack stumbled after him, dazed and confused. Images were flashing before his eyes unbidden, things long passed that he had been working on repressing for years. As Ham pulled him to stumble up the stairs, the image of him flashed into a small seven-year-old boy, and then with another blink, he was fourteen. Zack's eyes snapped to see his father driving away, and then back to see Pam standing on the sidewalk staring at them. He snapped his eyes away, his stomach flipping as Ham pushed the door open. Zack stumbled again, like he couldn't control it, and Ham had to push him back up onto his feet. His thanks were resting on his lips right at the moment Ham slammed him up against the wall.

Zack's eyes were impossibly large as Ham forced him against the wall by his collar, a deep scowl etching into his face. Zack wasn't afraid of Ham, not even a little, but at that moment, all he could see was red hair and even redder eyes glaring into him, and he couldn't be more terrified. Ham's growled warning was almost lost to him, "That was so out of line, Zack. If you wanted dibs on her, all you had to do was say so! I don't care!"

And then Zack was back out of it and Ham was blond-haired once more and looking at him through childishly frustrated blue eyes. Zack's disgusted tone wasn't even on purpose, and his stomach was lurching so unnervingly he didn't know how he even managed to speak, "Josh, I can't stand that girl, I don't want—"

"Then why would you do that?" Ham raged, before he let go of him and glared at him, his fists at his sides. "You can't just spurt out things like that to random strangers! Don't you have any sort of decency in you—"

Zack sputtered, pushing away from the wall, "I didn't mean—"

Ham interrupted him again, the blues of his eyes heated, "No, you just didn't think! You never think, do you? You have no respect for anyone's feelings!"

Zack's mouth was twitching but he tried hiding it through his words. "Ham," he said slowly, hoping calling him by his preferred name would dull his anger, "we were all in the car, Phil already knows about it, Dad's not going to look at you any different, and that girl? She's too busy tormenting me to give you a second thought. All I did was tell her you already liked someone…" He put his hands up in surrender. "You know I didn't mean to hurt you."

The anger faded a tad in Ham, leaving only a slight frustration boiling in the pits of his eyes. His cheeks turned pink as he looked down. "I'm not hurt… I mean…" He sighed, his entire face nearly hot pink. He looked humiliated. "I'm just really embarrassed."

Zack managed a weak smirk, and his eyes flashed with amusement. He'd clearly hit a nerve of some sort, but the embarrassment was a bit much. "_Please_, Josh. Old hats don't look good on you."

"What?" Ham raised his head to cock an eyebrow at him.

Zack laughed and pushed him along down the hall, anxious to get away from the front entrance before the she-devil had a chance to shuffle inside. "I'm just saying, nobody _cares_ if you have a crush or don't have a crush, Josh. I could have mentioned things so much more scarring. Like those Wally underpants you own that you wear whenever it gets cold, or how you refuse to use any other bathrobe but Mom's big, pink, fluffy one when you get out of the shower, or the constipation medicine Mom forces down your throat every week, or that you wax that little monobrow you've had going since you were thirteen, or even—" He was literally counting on his fingers all the things Ham had thought were secrets.

But Ham had to say, he wasn't surprised. Even still, he just eyed his brother up and down and stopped him mid-sentence when he couldn't take it anymore, in a tone both dry and a bit unnerved at the same time, "_Right, _I get it…" His eyes fell flat. "You're a true saint, Zack."

"I know I am." Zack beamed, letting his hands drop to his sides. A second later a hand was on Ham's back and pushing him down the hall again. Since their dad had to get them all out the door early so he could make it to school on time, they were about an hour early for school. This happened sometimes, so they thought nothing of it when the halls were empty. But early or not, Zack had to get him away from him, he had to have some time to breathe. "Now go off, young one, and fulfill your nerdy destiny!"

Ham walked the first few involuntary steps, before Zack's hand disappeared and he turned his head to raise an eyebrow once more.

Zack kept his smirk up for as long as he could, until Ham seemed satisfied with his staring and continued down the hall with a sigh. As soon as he'd turned the corner, Zack's face fell and he unleashed a monster of a breath, his hair drooping down over his eyes. A hand came up to rub at his temple and he closed his eyes. He felt like he was losing his mind, thinking for even a second Ham was _him_, and just as he thought he might be starting to feel a little more himself, a voice sounded from behind him that destroyed all semblance of normalcy, "Does he really wear a big, pink robe?"

Zack didn't turn around. He didn't dare. His voice came out utterly dried of emotion, "If you're going to ask me about what my grade was again, the answer is a resounding Hell no." Even still, he didn't move, his legs feeling screwed to the floor. He cursed anxiety.

The voice merely chuckled, oblivious to the wars raging in his head, voices screaming at him to run. "Straight to the point. _All righty then_." He heard the footsteps when they began, and he heard them when they stopped, directly behind him and his taut body. A hand grabbed him by his arm and tried jerking him around, but not even she—_especially not she_—could break him of his stiffness, and the sound of her voice didn't help, "If it's a stubborn game you want to play, I guarantee I'll win."

Zack cut his eyes to the ceiling, refusing to look at her. He had to cling to at least that bit of will he had in this. "You underestimate me."

Pam sniffed out a laugh, unfazed. "Either that or you overestimate yourself. Guess which one I believe."

That got him to look at her, but his hardened glare did nothing to dissuade her grin. A backpack was shoved into his arms the next second, and Pam explained before he had any time to be properly confused, "You left it in the car when Ham dragged you out like a ragdoll. You're welcome." She clasped her hands behind herself and rocked on her feet, apparently pleased with herself.

Zack stared at his backpack, before looking up at her with half his brow raised. He didn't know what she expected for returning it to him. Was this a method of bribery of some sort? Some kind of sucking up to the enemy? Well, whatever it was, it wasn't going to work on him. His voice came out almost as a monotone, "Golly gosh, thanks so much."

Her pleased look cleared at that, much to his pleasure, and she glared at him. "Is sarcasm all you know?"

Zack just shrugged, hiding his smirk. "Sometimes."

Pam sighed and her eyes went rolling like sickly waves. Zack's stomach went with them, knowing what this meant, and Pam's throwing her own Kitty Cat backpack onto the floor did little to ease his nerves before she was speaking again, "Well, I can beat you at that game too. You must think you're such hot doody embarrassing me time after time in front of Ham, but the joke's on you!" She shoved a finger in his face, her eyes set. "I don't even like him! He's too young for me, I just happen to think he's hot. If I really liked him I wouldn't have been able to admit how attractive he really is to him. I don't just blurt junk out like that."

Zack gave her an odd look, a plethora of possible responses shooting through his eyes before he just settled on scoffing. He was too tired for this, and damn it if she wasn't confusing. What kind of baloney was this? Did she expect him to eat this rubbish? She'd been an invariable storm of blushing ever since she laid eyes on him. His mind was running purely on auto-pilot when he said, flatly, "Two years is hardly a deal breaker."

Pam rolled her eyes again, something she felt she would be bound to do a lot when she was in his presence. "You said yourself it was yesterday. You can't just randomly change your mind. Seriously, if I'm going to like a guy who's not in my age group, I want him to be older, not younger." She gave him the stink eye. "Do you have any idea how immature guys are at that age? Or," she looked him up and down sarcastically, "at _any_ age?" Before he could sputter out some kind of comeback, she relaxed her posture back and went on, "But enough about that, let's get this over with, no more dilly-dallying. Now we have two options here. One, you tell me, in order, why you don't like me, why you're being such a baby, and what grade you got, or two, I bug you within an inch of your life until you either kill yourself or try to kill me and I kill you in self defense. Either way in the second option you end up dead, so I don't think you have much of a choice here."

Zack's eyes flared before he threw his backpack down beside hers, as if preparing for battle, and slapped his hands together in front of himself with an annoyed grace. Anger wasn't something he was accustomed to, but he couldn't seem to help it around her. "As compelling as I find your flimsy little argument, Ms. Longstocking, I think I'm going to have to go with option C. AKA, get a restraining order and a taser," he leaned down into her face, the daggers in his eyes sharpening, "not necessarily in that order."

Pam's face only hardened further at his words, much to his dismay, and she took things a step further, everything—from her posture to her tone—the very definition of _snarky_. "Like I said, try to hurt me and I'll kill you. You may think I'm underestimating you, but you have no _idea_ how severely you've been underestimating _me_." With these words, she took a step forward into his space, as if to demonstrate the immense power she held despite her small stature. If his feet weren't in cement he'd have moved away, but as it were, he did nothing but glare. She may have thought she scared and enraged him because of this "power" she thought she naturally had, but in all reality, she was nothing but a fabrication of his past. Had she been a brunette or blonde or _anything_, they would never have been having this conversation, and _damn it if this wouldn't have been so much easier_.

Seeing as he wasn't responding, Pam's glare softened slightly, though he really didn't care to notice, too busy wondering if there was any way he could dye her hair in the night without her noticing. Her voice was more normal this time, startling him, "Now, about those questions?"

Zack stared at her for a long time, parts of his brain fizzling and popping. She was persistent, so irritatingly persistent. The day hadn't even begun yet, and already his exhaustion was bearing down on him like a ten-ton weight. He'd bet she could make even Willy Horowitz want to declare war, and he'd only just been throwing flowers and talking about world peace yesterday. He couldn't deal with this, not today, not ever again. He'd just have to compromise. Throw the dog a bone and then run while the mongrel chased it to the ends of the earth. Maybe then he'd find some peace. Begrudgingly, in a voice that was barely a voice considering he'd never admitted to this before, he mumbled, "It's the hair."

Pam blinked, and instinctively a hand went up to ghost across her ponytail. "What?"

Zack sighed, and the rocks under the skin of his shoulders transformed to water. He eyed her ponytail warily, admitting to her, "It's the red hair. You were right. I hate gingers."

He saw her eyes grow, before they tried to fill up with resentment. He cut her off before she could even think to yell, "It's not like _that_." He shook his head a little at her, before he released a breath into the empty halls. "I knew someone once with red hair who…" possible words bobbled through his skull, "bugged me," he decided, a bit of irony in his voice, "and whenever I look at you, I see that person. It's not really you, it's me."

Pam stared at him for a couple seconds, before she pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. "What a nice way to break up with me—"

Zack rolled his eyes with a tired huff of breath, interrupting her, "Whatever, Pammy, an explanation is an explanation. Happy?"

"Not really." A glare shot from her eyes like a bullet. Her fuse had officially run out, and it was about time for the explosion. "I've said it once and I'll say it again—you're a terrible liar. You want to know what I think—"

Zack's breath was heavy, "Not even a little—"

"_I think_ you're just one of those jerks who sees something different about someone and immediately latches onto it as an excuse to hate them. I saw the way you looked at me yesterday. Your eyes went straight to my hair, barely even glanced at my face." Her eyes hardening, she grabbed her ponytail and waved it in his face, taunting, "That's right, I'm a redhead! Get used to it because it's not changing!" He'd backed away from her hair when she'd done that, so she let it fall from her hand and went marching after him, her shoulders set and eyes an ashy forest fire. His eyes in contrast were wide as he continued to back away from her, shocked. "My patience with you has officially run out. I know your type, all you're concerned about is yourself and your sick little popularity game. Can't even admit that you're freaking _amazing_ at poetry! Here I thought you'd be some kind of sensitive, deep guy, but instead you're just a pompous ass! Well joke's on you! You can't fool me. I can tell when a guy is lying." Having him backed into a wall, she angrily shoved her finger in his face. "And that's all you are! A liar!"

Zack spluttered before he just snapped his mouth shut and stared at her, his heart pounding in his ears.

* * *

><p>August was looking at him like he'd gone mad. Vaguely, his eyes shifted down to look at his expensive, crisp white shoes, where the laces were still tied expertly up into two perfect bows. He was no doubt thinking he'd finally beaten all sanity out of him, but Zack's smirk didn't dim. Kids were looking from out of the corner of their eyes, some just unashamedly staring, and Zack was glad. He wanted a crowd.<p>

Before long, August looked up at him again, his expression composed, and yelled, "There's nothing wrong with my shoelaces!"

Zack's face took on an interested look, as if he found what he'd just said simply fascinating. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. There's plenty wrong with them."

August turned fully around to look at him, and his posture shifted to one side almost boredly. A small frown on his face, he decided to humor him, "Oh, really? Do tell."

Zack chuckled a little high-pitchedly, some of his nerve slipping at him being fully facing him now. He really must have lost his mind at least a little to have even thought of doing this, but there was no turning back now. People were staring, recess would be over soon, and he couldn't risk his dad seeing. At the thought of his dad, he instantly blurted, "They're attached to you! That's what's wrong with them!"

A slow hush fell over the playground, as everyone stared in complete gobsmacked silence. Kids held back gasps at his audacity, and girls had to fan themselves with their hands to keep from fainting away to the concrete. August's expression had frozen, and he didn't budge an inch. Zack was in a similar state. Suddenly, a small chuckle was heard.

It was exactly the break needed, and a second later the entire playground was exploding with laughter; guffaws, hoots, and hollers were coming from every angle, and August snapped out of his shock and whipped an alarmed glare around at them all. Zack, however, was paralyzed. He could hardly believe that had worked. A second later he wondered what was wrong with him, pulling a stunt like that if he wasn't even certain he wouldn't walk away a zombie from it. Then again it still wasn't guaranteed he wouldn't. His face paled at that, but he did his best to hold his ground. He had to be strong, even if his legs were begging for him to run away.

Inevitably, August's eyes eventually snapped to him, and they flashed red. As a way of insurance, Zack took a couple bounding steps farther into the playground, closer to him before he had a chance to close in on him. That was all he could manage, though, and Zack's face hardened as he stared into the face of his bully. Forcing a smirk onto his face, he asked, trying to imitate his smug tone, "What's the matter, August? Cat got your tongue?" His chuckle echoed in his own ears.

August's eyes widened and he stiffened again. No one had ever stood up to him before. Not like this, not in front of everyone and after months of him trying to beat the nerve out of them. His fists clenched then. Whatever had gotten into him, he was going to kick it out. Slowly, he took measured steps towards Zack, trying to intimidate him with just the sheer force of his glare.

Zack didn't budge, though. At his look, Zack just chuckled again. Kids were laughing to the point some were crying actual tears, there were a shipload of witnesses here, and Zack could feel himself growing bolder. He held out his good arm in a welcoming gesture, and grinned challengingly. This made August pause, and Zack took advantage of this as he took yet another step closer to him, and farther away from the dumpster, farther away from his fears. He was starting to see August for what he truly was—power hungry. And he didn't have the power here, Zack did.

Starting to feel a bit cocky, Zack leaned forward with his hand on his hip, smirking, "Really, August, you're starting to look a little pale. Maybe you should lie down."

"Maybe you should lie down!" Before anyone knew what was going on, August had Zack pushed down on the ground and had his foot pressing down on his chest. The laughter immediately halted and a gasp was ripped from Zack's throat. August bared down on him with his foot, pointing furiously to his shoe with a hysterical yell, "See that? That's called a flawlessly tied shoe! You think you're so funny…" he leaned down to cut his eyes at him, "well, joke's over, short man. I am going to beat you so hard, your ancestors' _wake up_!"

Zack took a moment to just breathe heavily and try to gain back some semblance of the confidence he'd possessed before, and he just managed to force a glare up at him. "Fine," he choked, "you've been threatening to for long enough, just get it over with. I'm done messing around." Everyone looked around at each other, murmuring.

Something strange flashed over August's face—something like panic or discontent, but it was gone a millisecond later and he was grabbing Zack up by his collar and suspending him up in the air by his fist, drawing his other one back with a scowl. "Be careful what you ask for, Shortie! Don't think I won't!"

Zack just stared down at him, his face hard. "Whatever, August." His face searched his bully, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't see red eyes or inflamed hair or pure, unrivaled evil. He saw frustrated, dark brown eyes and fluffy orange hair, and a twitching scowl and hesitant fist. Zack knew how August worked—despite what people said about bullies being dumb, August was very smart. He knew to keep his bullying somewhat hush-hush, he knew just the right threats to make to keep kids from crying to their parents, and he especially knew that punching a kid out in front of the entire school was a bad idea. Things had gone too far, though, and there was no turning back, but also no going forward. Either way he would end up in major trouble, and Zack could feel the last bit of his fear trickle out of him. He could see past the façade now, and all he saw was an oversized jerk.

Summoning as much strength as he could muster into his voice, with his only thought being of his family, Zack announced loud and clear, "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Bailey! You can punch me as many times as you want, tell a hundred more lies, but I'm not afraid! Because I know you're wrong, and you can't hurt me anymore!" August's fist had loosened enough that he managed to push himself free, and he fell back onto the ground. Coughing, he glared up at August, unwavering.

August was staring down at him with the most disturbed expression, frozen and without a word to say. Zack took advantage of this and stood up from the ground, dusting off his cast with a careful hand. He'd been wrong. It was a strong cast, not even August could penetrate that. August was even weaker than he was.

But he wasn't weak. He realized that now. He'd just said things to August that he had only dreamed of possessing the courage to say. He'd finally stood up for himself, after weeks and months of hiding behind a mask of fake smiles and blank faces. He was free, he didn't have to go through a second more of this. The realization of what he'd just done was liberating, and a smirk burst onto his face against his permission as a rush of pride flew through him. Taking a breath and reminding himself this wasn't over just yet, Zack looked up at August and stood up perfectly erect, to his full average-for-a-boy-his-age height. "I'm Zack Shortman. Not _short man_. Shortman. And you can't tell me what to do anymore." A thick scowl crossed over his face and he took a small step forward, a small risk though the boiling anger just below the surface of his eyes permitted it. "Now you either leave me alone, leave _everyone_ alone, and carry on with your life trouble free, or I tell on you for everything you've done to me." Glancing down at his cast, he raised half of his brow as if something interesting had just occurred to him. He looked up at August again, and mused, "I wonder, if I went to the doctor again in a couple days, would he find finger bruises?" He hummed, taking a step back to shrug his shoulders, his other arm resting on his cast. "That would be an interesting experiment, huh?" A small smirk came to rest on his face.

August stared at him for a long moment, before gradually, his eyes shifted from left to right, seeing all the gawking faces staring at the scene. Blinking, his face hardened, and he leaned down into Zack's face, as if to warn him, "You think these idiots will support you in this? They don't care about you."

Zack stared at him, not budging from his spot. "Maybe not now." He grinned an almost evil grin, the grin of a pink-bowed ruler of decades past, and finished, "But they will."

August's lips sneered slightly, and he felt the need to make one final point, "All right, smart guy. You may think you hold all the cards now, but one day," he leaned in just a tiny bit closer, and cut his eyes to slits, "you'll be all alone with no one around, and in that moment," he smirked, the smirk of a boy desperate for the last ounce of power he had left, "you'll realize I was right all along, about _everything_." He shrugged. "After all, nobody likes a girly man."

August didn't wait to see his reaction. He just stood back up and, as if nothing had happened, casually wandered off of the playground and back inside the school. The bell rang shortly after, but nobody moved from their spots.

Zack stared after him in shock. Not just at his words, but at the fact that he'd actually won. It was over. He could hardly believe it.

The sudden explosion of cheers nearly made his heart explode, and he snapped his wide eyes to see everyone clapping madly and grinning at him. Zack's jaw slowly unhinged as he took this in, his heart trying to jump out of his chest. He'd never cared what these people thought of him before, but in the last few months, he had been desperate for some kind of recognition in their eyes. Anything but fear, anything but pity. But he hadn't ever thought he'd have practically the entire student body screaming his praises. The pride from before came rushing back tenfold, and he grinned at them all, rubbing the back of his neck a little nervously.

Rueben Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd walked out from the crowd to pose a respectful hand towards him, a small smile on his lips as he took in Zack's proud posture. "Well done, Zachary. You're a bold one."

Zack blinked at the rich boy, before he grinned once more and grabbed his hand, shaking it. "I know." A smirk curled his lips, deadly and prideful, and Rueben raised a sharp eyebrow in impressed surprise. Zack let go of his hand then and reached up to smooth out his hair, chuckling. "But _please_, call me Zack."

He snapped his eyes to a couple girls off on the sidelines then and winked, which immediately brought surprised blushes to their faces. At their quiet giggles, his smirk broadened and he shared a smug look with Rueben.

"What the heck did I miss?" a small voice suddenly yelled, and all eyes went to a small football headed boy standing on the staircase of the school, his blue eyes huge.

Zack laughed. He wanted to fall to his knees and cry, but instead he just laughed, a loud almost maniacal cackle that had everyone else giggling and Reuben raising an eyebrow again. Josh looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you don't want to take maternity leave now?" Arnold asked worriedly over the pay phone by the school, leaning back against the glass as his fingers tapped anxiously against the metal. He paused as Helga spoke over the other end, before he burst out with, "You threw up in the middle of the room!" His shoulders tensed at her shouted reply, and he couldn't help mumbling under his breath, "And you're already having mood swings… To think here all this time I just thought your <em>friend<em> had come for an extended visit…" He had to pull the phone away from his ear, Helga's screaming was so loud. He winced into the receiver. "Okay, okay! Helga, I'm sorry… I'm just worried, it's not good for you to get so worked up… Did you tell your dad yet?"

He paused as he listened to her reply, his tongue flicking out to glide across his upper lip in nerves before he responded softly, "Helga, men can't have PMS…" He paused at her frustrated reply, before a small smile spread over his face. "Well, I'll drop the kids off at the boarding house and go down there to tell him for you, for us. I'll even stop by the store on the way there and pick up some 'supplies' if it'll make you feel better. Uh, no disrespect to your dad…" He coughed, before grinning as her crackled laughter exploded from the receiver. He wished she was here so he could kiss her. His hands were still a little shaky from yesterday, still processing the fact they were going to be having another baby, and every once in a while his vision would split and he'd have the urge to giggle.

He almost couldn't help it as he fell back completely against the glass, his head falling back as he closed his eyes and said dreamily, "You think it'll be a boy or a girl…?" Helga's voice was sweet against his ear, but her joke made his eyes pop open and smirk at the phone. "Helga, honestly, I'm not asking my… my…" He stuttered to a stop as she interrupted him, before he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, I'm sorry. No one could have known having boys somehow ran in the family. Yeah, Grandpa had Dad, and Dad had me, but my great Grandpa had twins. A boy _and_ a girl… I have hope." He grinned at her reply and pushed away from the wall, laughing. "Oh boy, don't even joke about that! I don't think we could handle five kids. Three is stressful enough, and four…" He sputtered, blushing as it occurred to him they had a lot of kids, more than anyone else from the old gang. His face went a bit rueful. "You know there are going to be jokes about this…" She just laughed over the other end.

The bell rang then and Arnold's eyes widened, nearly dropping the phone. He huffed at how jumpy he'd become and pressed the phone hurriedly back to his ear. "Helga, the bell—" she stopped him before he could say, understanding and sounding very amused, as if she knew how crazy he was right now, and he sighed, smiling. "Okay… do you want me to come or not? Because I will." He could almost see her rolling her eyes at him and he pulled the phone away from his face to hug it to his chest, sighing to the ceiling, before he put it back up to his ear and said, "Okay, Helga, good luck, and come home early." She tried to protest at that but this time, he interrupted her, his voice strong and face going stern. He spoke to her as if she were one of his rowdy students, "No, Helga, no arguing about this. I'm putting my foot down. For my own sanity, as soon as it's your break, come home. Bob can get Eduardo or Miriam to help. You're not the only one there, and you're _pregnant _with our baby girl!" His frustrated face immediately stilted as she spoke him, tentative and soft, and he had to smile despite himself. His shoulders bounced as he teasingly replied into the phone, "I told you I'm hopeful. By the way, I've always liked the name Faith. I love you." He hung up then, leaving her with that thought to nibble on, and instantly released a huge breath and fell back against the booth again, grinning. "And if it's twins, we'll name the boy Alfred." He snorted. "Okay, wow, I really need a nap or something."

"Daddy-o!" a voice suddenly shouted, making Arnold jump and hit his head against the roof of the payphone. He groaned, rubbing his head as he stumbled out, his hand gripping the door. "Zack…" he said, a bit surprised as he opened his eyes to find him walking towards him with Rhonda and Curly's son, Rueben, along with a small group of kids trailing behind them. He'd very seldom seen Zack today since he'd apparently forgone lunch with him again to eat in the cafeteria and had all but disappeared during recess. This had been going on for months now and Arnold had taken it as a sign of him making friends, but he hadn't actually seen him with any of them until now.

Zack was walking with an almost cocky grin coloring his face, and he stopped in front of his dad to gesture to his new friends, though they really looked more like a fanclub to Arnold with how they were all smiling and giggling. "You know Rueben."

Rueben raised his eyebrows high up, smiling. "Always a pleasure, Mr. Shortman."

Arnold nodded his head very slowly, eyeing Rueben strangely. Out of all the kids for his mischievous son to befriend, he'd never expected one to be Rueben. It wasn't that he was a bad kid, but Rhonda and Curly (or Thaddeus, as Rhonda'd taken to calling him) had come over to visit many times, and vice versa, and Rueben had never taken an interest in Zack before, nor had Zack seemed to care for him. Zack had even told him once over dinner that he thought he was stuck up, but now he looked happy, sunshiny, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Zack turned his head slightly, raising half his brow at all the kids that had followed after them, and shrugged with a chuckle and threw his thumb back at them. "And of course you know the rest of these guys. They _were_ in your class once upon a time."

Arnold smiled tentatively, waving at them. He remembered. That had been a particularly tiresome year, they were an especially troublesome bunch as second graders. "Hey, kids…"

"Hi, Mr. Shortman," they all echoed each other, their greetings stumbling over each other's and smiling politely at him. After a few seconds, they started to look a bit awkward at being around their old teacher and they started to disperse. Rueben stayed rooted to his spot, though, a smile relaxing on his face. Arnold blinked at him, before turning his eyes on his son.

Zack chuckled at his dumbfounded look and put his hand on Rueben's shoulder. "Rueben invited me over to his house this Saturday. We just wanted to know if that was cool?"

Arnold blinked, straightening up a little as he scratched his head. "Well, of course, Zack…" A quick chuckle burst from him suddenly, and he smiled with an amused gleam in his eye. "I'm glad to see you're doing, um, better…"

Zack nodded enthusiastically, holding his cast up to show him all the signatures he had on it. There was a sea of them on the cast, jumbled and scribbled over each other in different colors and styles, as if every kid in the school had signed. It only made Arnold's smile grow more as Zack told him, "I had a great day!"

Arnold patted him on the head, smoothing out his hair with his fingers affectionately with a warm chuckle. "I'm happy to hear it, Zack."

Rueben opened his mouth to say something, a finger already in the air when there was a sudden excited yell from behind him and he cringed as his twin sister jumped onto his back. He didn't budge as she wrapped her legs and arms around him, her glasses nearly falling off along with his own as she rubbed her face against his. "Rueben, the limo's here!"

With his glasses hanging off the end of his nose and the side of his hair becoming tangled from her face, his voice was quiet and agonized, "Ugh… why…" He shook slightly under her weight, but she didn't seem to mind this and she hugged him tighter. He took matters into his own hands then and pried her arms from around him, pushing her off. He spoke as he dusted himself off, "All right, Riley, calm down." He turned his eyes on Zack then and a deemed him worthy of a smile and wave as he headed off with his sister. "I'll see you at the party on Saturday! Bye, Mr. Shortman!"

"Ciao, Shortmans!" Riley waved to them before they disappeared around the corner.

Arnold blinked after them, his hand freezing mid-wave as they disappeared. A bit flustered, he yelled quick while there was still a chance they could hear, "Bye, kids! Tell your parents I said hell—Oh!" An exclamation popped from Arnold's lips as Zack unexpectedly flew forward and wrapped his arm around his middle in a hug, his bad arm awkwardly coming up to his side as he all but clung to his father. Arnold stared down at him, surprised.

As if he could feel his eyes on him, Zack held onto him tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. "Love you, Dad. You're the best dad ever."

Arnold's breath left him in a rush, but Zack's hug unfortunately only lasted a second more before he was pulling back, looking perfectly normal, as if he hadn't just done something extraordinary and made Arnold's entire week. Smiling, Zack swept his hand across his forehead to clear his hair away and gestured towards the playground. "Is Josh ready to go?"

Arnold had no idea how he managed to speak, but he did, his voice sounding far away, "Yeah… Zack, could you go get him, and I'll start the car and meet you there?"

Zack saluted him, snapping his feet together. "Aye aye, Captain."

As Zack practically pranced away, Arnold stood there erect for a couple more seconds, before he slammed his back into the phone booth and grinned. All those years feeling alone and by himself and now he had three loaves rising and a fresh bun in the oven. He was even happy enough to use a weird metaphor. Helga's books had been rubbing off on him apparently. He sighed.

He'd been worried about Zack already, then he hurt himself and they found out Helga was pregnant—it had been taking everything out of him not to have _some_ kind of breakdown. But Zack had heeded his advice, clearly, and that was one less thing to worry about. Zack could handle himself, he'd just proven that he could, and Arnold wondered why he was surprised. He was his son, after all.

His eyes glassily stared at the sidewalk like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever beheld, before they bolted huge and he gasped. "The car! Right, the car!" His feet threw themselves in front of each other in a race as he ran for the parking lot, before he tripped on a pebble and slammed down on the sidewalk.

Being used to falling, Arnold's only reaction was to sigh, resting his head in his hand as his other one's fingers tapped against the sidewalk. "Sometimes," he mused wryly, "I think I'm the one who should have been going to see Dr. Bliss all those years."

* * *

><p>The rest of the day went by in a blissful haze to Zack. He could feel the appraising stares of his brothers as they drove home, his father eyeing him more curiously than usual, but Zack held no qualms about this. He'd never been one to shy away from the spotlight, he just didn't actively seek it. Now that he was in it, though, he could feel himself growing attached. He'd never known how nice it was to have people actually <em>want<em> to talk to you. He'd grown so desperate for human kindness lately that having so many smiles directed at him now made him want to skip. Yet his family knew better, they knew there was something different about him, and he wasn't about to correct them on it. When Phil sidled in next to him after school, already latching himself firmly on Josh's arm and raising an eyebrow in his direction, he grinned brightly at him. For a toddler, Phil was rather intuitive for his age, and he could practically smell the sudden assurance about him like an overly pungent perfume that had been dumped over his head.

When they arrived home and his mother came shortly after, she continued her reign of torture upon his poor, young soul. Soup had been forced down his throat and a thermometer poked in his ear. For all of her charms, his mother was not a doctor, and he found himself having to bite back correcting her on the fact that a broken arm wasn't anything like a cold. His father saved him the trouble, and thankfully the horror of having another thermometer poked somewhere entirely unpleasant, and he was able to breathe easy for the rest of the day. Dinner earned him a lot of probing questions but, as usual, he revealed nothing but what one might expect of a nine-year-old's day at school. Although this time there was a newfound certainty in his words, an aura about him that provoked nothing but confidence and the easing of shoulders. His mother seemed pleasantly surprised at the change, as if she'd noticed the difference as well, and her shared look with Arnold confirmed this enough that Zack had to bite down a chuckle. It was as if a gust of fresh air had flown through the room, and both Arnold and Helga were more than happy to sit back and bask in it.

Zack took note of this, realizing with some guilt that it was really true. They had noticed he'd been different, and they had been worried—they had just been hiding it from him, just as he'd been hiding himself from them. The relief that flooded him was spellbinding, and even his mom sending him to bed early with instructions to pay close mind to his injury couldn't tear the smile from his face. At the end of her lecture, he threw himself at her in a hug, letting all of his love pour out of him and into her for caring. He had no doubts now that if he shared with them all that August had done, they'd be furious. He wasn't about to throw a burden like that on top of them, though. He would be okay—he would make sure of it. He would grin every day for the rest of his life if it meant they could sleep easier for it, and give them a hundred more hugs.

At her gasp of surprise, he adjusted his head so his ear went over her stomach, half wondering how long it would be before he could hear the tiny presence inside. He couldn't help but ask, his curiosity getting the best of him, "Do you know what you're going to name him?"

Helga was still staring down at him, blinking her eyes as if she could hardly believe he was there. After a moment, a smile softly graced her face and she chuckled, bringing her arms around him as she hugged him back, kneeling halfway to the floor. "I don't know, Zacky, what would you have me call him," she scrunched up her nose, finding it a bit funny how he instantly assumed it'd be a boy, "or her?"

Zack's eyes flew up to hers, startled, before a grin stretched over his face. It reminded her of Arnold's crazy, ear-to-ear one he did from time to time, and she had to hold back a snort at the thought as he asked, comically, "A _girl_?"

Helga quirked an eyebrow, smirking mildly in amusement. "Well, sure, why the heck not?"

Zack's grin only widened at the idea, and Helga wondered if it was because he thought it was unheard of or pleasant. In the end, though, he just chuckled and shrugged. "I think his or her last name should be Shortman, that way we'll be a matching set."

Helga almost looked at him as if he were crazy, but the grin still undimmed on his face made her realize he had said it on purpose. The little twerp really was in a good mood tonight. She wondered what could have brought all this on, but Helga had long learned to never look a gift horse in the mouth, only to take what was so generously given, run like hell, and thank the mother the universe had chosen to smile on her. It's what she'd done when Arnold confessed the first time, the second time, proposed, and it was going to be what she did with his spawn too, damn it all—he crafted magical things, that angel, and she was just lucky enough to be the one for him to grace it with. Even after eleven years of marriage, she believed that wholeheartedly. So as her son grinned at her after months of acting aloof and strange, as if he'd never been happier or in better health in his entire life, Helga just grinned slyly back and ruffled up his hair. "I'll be sure to keep that suggestion in mind. Now enough of this stalling, get up to bed."

Zack's grin was almost dreamy in like, and he took a step back as she stood before beginning up the stairs to his room, before he seemed to pause. A second later he turned around with cobalt eyes wide and shining in the light filtering out from the other room, and he flew forward to envelop her in one last hug before he flung himself back and went racing up the stairs, waving at her with a grin. "Night, Mom! Love you!"

As the sound of his door slammed shut, Helga was left standing in the lazy darkness of the hallway, stock-straight and dumbfounded. That was her son, after all. Her son she'd had with Arnold, Arnold Shortman, who'd just hugged her and mischievously fled from sight, who had been in a cheery mood all evening for the first time in what seemed like years to her, who had just hugged her, Helga Pataki—now Shortman, and was now in bed, sleeping in the house she shared, with Arnold Shortman, the man who had impregnated her again with his seed, and she was going to give birth to. She'd just had a horrible day yesterday, and a horrible day this morning, and now suddenly the entire world looked like sunshine and rainbows.

Helga suddenly burst into tears, desperately trying to mop up her tears with the back of her hands before anyone saw. "Oh, criminy, maybe I am having mood swings already, damn it… I'm going to kill someone for this…"

At hearing these words, Arnold instantly thought better of his plan to grab her into a surprise hug and instead flew in the direction of the kitchen to make her some hot chocolate. At her fresh burst of wails, he decided he'd better make it a double. With plenty of whipped cream. Her sobs grew louder, and she suddenly cried out, "I'll use their eye balls for racquetball!"

Okay, you know what? He'd just bring the entire can.

* * *

><p>Despite his best efforts, Zack couldn't shake the anxiousness from his stomach as his father dropped them off at the school the next morning. His legs felt like jelly and the confidence he'd managed to wear like an invisible cloak the day before was falling off piece by piece as he wandered through the quiet halls, his steps echoing like an ominous beat that drummed his soon demise. He wondered if he could even help it, if he'd ever be able to shake it—every morning he'd had this feeling, and it wasn't as easily stomped down on as he'd originally thought.<p>

There were no kids around now. No witnesses. No way for him to wield any power should he choose to strike. It would be in cold blood. Wasn't that what August said? That he would be alone with no one around and he'd realize he was right? He had made it sound like something that would happen far off in the future, but what if it had all been a cleverly disguised threat to throw him off? He could feel himself twitching, chilled to the bone and expecting him to come flying out at any moment to crush him into a fine dust and blow him into the breeze. He fancied himself the type to make a rather nice sandbox. It wasn't exactly the most glamorous thing he'd had in mind for his life but if permitted even that small choice, he would be grateful and say he'd lived a good life. The life of someone who'd died with, at the very least, his dignity intact. If nothing else, he wanted to keep his pride. He'd never realized but he really treasured having that. It was like the last scrap of power he had left after he'd woken up, feeling alone for a split second before his brother started screaming in the other room and he remembered he lived with a bunch of nutjobs. Never had that realization felt so reassuring.

But now he was alone, wandering through the familiar halls of P.S. 118 and wondering what kind of death was awaiting him at every turn.

None came, though, and soon he was at the door of Mrs. Holt's fourth grade classroom. He stared down at the doorknob, sucking in a breath. His eyes flew from left to right, and he spun around when he saw a flash of something.

It was nothing, but Zack's shoulders didn't budge. His eyes slowly roved over his surroundings, unmoving as he made sure he was truly alone.

The halls were almost too silent, Zack would wager. Every second passed by like a snail through jello, and Zack wasn't about to risk overlooking anything. Not even nothing. Nothing was going to get just as much attention as something. Better safe than dead.

There was a click from behind him then and he jerked around just in time for someone to crash into him and send him flying to the ground. With a loud, "Oof," Zack fell onto his bottom, and his eyes snapped open in their shock to see Mrs. Holt staring down at him in horror. It took a moment but soon she managed to snap out of it and she knelt down quickly to grab his good hand, pulling him up without his permission and dusting him off as she fretted, "Oh, Zachary, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you okay? I didn't break anything else? Nothing hurts?"

Zack was blinking rapidly at all this, startled and without anything to say as she swept her hands over his shoulders to clean him off. He waved his hand at her absently, still in a bit of a daze, and tried to put a stop to her trying to polish him off like a trophy, "Mrs. Holt, I'm fine…" He held in a deep sigh at all this, always finding himself irritated when his teacher fussed over him like this. He was still wary, though, and the presence of an adult figure wasn't exactly unwelcome, so he allowed it.

Mrs. Holt was unaware of his fears, though, and she quickly withdrew her hands from him and apologized again, stuttering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"I'm fine!" Zack burst, in no mood for this. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he patted her on the arm and looked around cautiously, licking his lips before he brought his blue eyes back up to Mrs. Holt and lowered his voice, "Um, actually, you haven't seen…" he held his breath a second, finding it difficult to even say his name for fear he would appear, "Mr. Bailey…" he settled, his eyes masked with casualness, "have you?"

Mrs. Holt blinked a couple times, before her eyebrows furrowed. "August?" Her eyes smiled then, clearly not catching Zack's wince. "Oh, he transferred out yesterday. Packed his things and left."

Zack's jaw hit the floor. "He _what_?"

Mrs. Holt frowned, fearful she may have displeased her best student. "Yes, he said he didn't think he was reaching his full potential here. With good reason, I believe, the fourth grade is no place for a fourteen-year-old."

Zack's jaw completely dropped down off of his skull and clattered to the ground.

Mrs. Holt twitched, looking awkward and worried. "I'm sorry, were you friends with him? I could get you his number—"

"No," Zack mumbled, his hazy eyes looking anywhere but at her. "He's… gone?" he muttered it like he was speaking of the Holy Grail. It was too good to be true. It didn't seem like a logical possibility. Was it possible he really had died, or gotten knocked out or was in a coma, and this was all just some kind of elaborate dream? Considering some of the things his imagination had come up with before, it was possible. "That's crazy…" He blinked a couple times, trying to make sense of reality.

Mrs. Holt blinked, her eyebrows still furrowed and giving him an odd look. She tried smiling, her false cheeriness never failing. "It was unexpected. He was actually a very good student, he was doing well in everything but English and spelling, but I guess he agree. He didn't say where he was transferring, just that his chapter here was done. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Oh, well…" Zack struggled with a shaky smile, swaying on his feet, "that's… good. That's… very, very good." He cackled, before his eyes rolled up and he fainted away to the floor.

Mrs. Holt's eyes flew open huge. "Zack!"

* * *

><p>The rest of the day flew by like a dream. After a rather strange experience in the nurse's office where he literally couldn't stop laughing and teachers kept poking their heads in to stare at the "crazy boy," kids hoarded him in congratulation and awe, yelling his praise for scaring off the school's most feared and reviled bully. By this point, Zack was so relieved he couldn't think straight. He kept finding himself doodling odd shapes and giggling in between math equations. His teacher sent him regular wary expressions throughout the day, afraid that she may have broken him somehow. But for once, Zack appreciated the concern, 'cause he was happy to the point he almost felt ill.<p>

Soon the bell was ringing and Zack flew through the halls in a run, racing for the front door of the school so he could get out once and for all—or at least until Monday anyway. A weekend was just what his nerves needed, and as he went screeching around the corner he only just caught sight of his father's wide, surprised green eyes before he crashed into his legs.

Being a grown man, Arnold barely moved, just stumbled back slightly as he grabbed Zack's shoulders to steady him. Chuckling, Arnold asked warmly, "Heading somewhere, Zack?"

"Slausens," he answered unperturbed, shaking his head of it's ache to make room for the grin on his face. "It's Friday. Candy's always on sale on Fridays."

Arnold raised an eyebrow, taking his hands back as he cautioned, "You know there's going to be a crowd."

Zack smirked. "Not if I get there first."

Arnold chuckled at that, patting his shoulder. "All right, Zack. I'll meet you there after I pick up Josh and Phil, huh? I still need to call your mom." He smiled, giving show to a few teeth. "Get some gumdrops before they're all gone." Arnold dug into his pocket then and pulled out a five-dollar bill, folded it absentmindedly in half and held it out to his son.

Zack grinned and eagerly grabbed at the money, crumpling it up in his hand at his side. "Okay, Dad. Count on it." He broke into a run down the hall once more, waving at him as he looked over his shoulder. "I'll see you there!"

Arnold waved back, smiling as his son disappeared from sight. "Ah, to be young and in a hurry." He chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he began around the corner.

Zack zig-zagged through a few idle students chatting in the halls before he burst out through the front doors of the school and took in a deep breath, enjoying the warmth of day. Uncrumpling the dead man's face, he folded it up a couple times before tucking it away in his sneaker. Adjusting his shoe back right over his foot, he began casually enough down the sidewalk, deciding to save his energy for after he rounded the corner and the store was in sight.

Confidence was an interesting thing to have. As he passed by the old stores and caught people staring, he only stood taller, slowing his steps so they could get a good, long look, his lips twisting up. To think there was ever a time when he hadn't cared how people perceived him. Positive attention was a beautiful thing. And who knew it was that easy to gain? When you were happy, it was contagious, he found, as all the passing grown ups seemed to light up at the sight of him. In some ways he supposed he was lucky to go to a school in such a nice neighborhood, but it made him wonder if people would be so willing to humor his joy downtown, which really wasn't that far from here, as the occasional sleazy, skuzzy-bearded drifter could attest to. He rather doubted it. Which was why he was lucky he didn't _live_ down here. All that sneering and scowling on a regular basis every time he wanted a corndog would stink.

It was all August's fault really—he was the reason he was so happy now. If he'd never been bullied, he'd never have been able to stand up to him, and he'd never have cared what people thought and probably been a quiet loner for the rest of his life, hiding away in the library and eating all his meals with his parents. He'd never have known how good it felt to have _friends_.

The strange thing was that if he could turn back the clock and change everything, he wasn't sure if he would. He guessed that was mainly because it was all over now. If he'd been asked the same question a couple days ago he'd have fallen to his knees at the opportunity. But now that he could see the light at the end of the tunnel, he was almost happy it had happened. The darkest part of his life was over now, thanks to a broken arm, a baby, and a random musical number. Not too shabby a trigger for a life-changing epiphany, if he did say so himself.

If there was ever a revenge this sweet before, Zack didn't know what it was. August's main goal had been to crush his spirit, and all he'd done was make it stronger.

These thoughts swam through Zack's mind as he entered Slausen's. The place sold all kinds of sweets, from ice cream to candy to random dessert dishes they'd adapted. There was even a display for stickers that attracted attention by the window, all glossy and pristine and shining in the light of the window. His family favored the place, for it's retro style, low prices, and vast assortment of diabetes-inducing treats. The memory of his dad telling him this place used to only sell ice cream when he was a kid drifted through a deeper part of his mind as he absentmindedly scooped up some gumdrops and tied them off in a bag, along with a couple of his favorite candy bars and anything sweet and gooey for his brothers, along with a couple lollypops. Anything green would work really. Phil was an obsessed child.

Paying for it all didn't take but a minute, and soon he was standing outside the door munching on a Mr. Fudgie candy bar, watching smugly as a sea's worth of kids started flooding in through the door. Sometimes being the fastest runner on his baseball team came in real handy.

He stopped at the thought. Billy Booger Boy Green had broken his leg just last month playing, and Kassidy Horowitz broke her… everything, just last week. Blinking, Zack glanced down at his cast, thinking back to the hospital and the tears and vomiting that had ensued. His face hardened. No more baseball.

He frowned at the thought, and wrapped his bar back up. He wasn't so in the mood for candy anymore.

A short girl with a red beanie pulled over her head went running up to the store then, breathing hard as she screeched to a stop at the window on the other side of the building from him. Zack stared at her, seeing her fingers curl up against the glass as she saw that the place was packed now, most of the candy dishes already empty. He only just caught the glint of moisture in her eye.

Without thinking, he reached inside of his bag and pulled out the lollypops he'd stuck in there just for the sake of having them. Nobody really liked them anyway, and as he stared at them he caught her eyeing them longingly in his hand out of the corner of his eye. Smirking, he tossed them over at her. Her eyes widened but in that split second, she grabbed them quick and fumbled, her cheeks turning pink. Zack just snorted a slight laugh, smirking. "All yours." She didn't say anything back, just nodded her head in acceptance, abashed.

His dad had said to wait here for him, but he didn't want to just stand there. They were going to be coming up the same way anyway, so if he walked back towards the school, he could probably catch their car. Sticking the couple dollars of change into his sock, he waved goodbye to the shy girl and began off towards the school, feeling good about himself as the store music's "The Simple Things" dwindled and faded behind him.

His walk was a peaceful one filled with the sound of his whistling, and he was just rounding the corner, catching sight of the school, when he suddenly felt a pull backwards and he was blinded by darkness.

"You didn't think I'd just leave without saying goodbye, did ya, Short Man?" August's teeth and eyes glowed in the shadows of the alley, and Zack heard the sound of a pen clicking just as it descended on him.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to kill him," Arnold grumbled lowly, scowling as he circled back around for the third time in the car, his hands nearly white on the wheel. "I'm going to string him up by his shoelaces in his room and never let him down again. I'll keep him on a leash and hook it to my belt so he can't wander off. Put a chip in his brain that screams every time he gets within five feet away from me. I'll… I'll…" His eye twitched.<p>

Phil giggled in the back seat, nudging Josh. "Daddy sounds like Mommy."

"Never listens," Arnold continued lowly, his green eyes sharp as they looked up and down the sidewalk. "Doesn't hear a word I say. I'm about five minutes away from calling the police."

"Wait, Dad," Josh pointed out the window, pressing his nose up against the glass, "there he is!"

Arnold stomped down on the break and clicked the car off with startling speed. In a second he was out of the car and marching purposefully towards where Zack was standing on the side of the road. He yelled, "Zachary Shortman!"

Zack snapped his head up like he'd just been struck, and his eyes widened as his dad came into view, his eyes on fire. "Dad?" his voice sounded far away.

Arnold stopped in front of him, his fists clenched and shoulders tense as he stared lividly down at his first born. Zack stared up at him, meeting his green eyes with his blue.

A couple tense seconds passed between the two, before Arnold threw his arms around Zack and lifted him up off the ground, squeezing him tight. "Ugh…" he buried his head in his hair, clenching his teeth as he took in a harsh breath, "don't you ever disappear like that again. Or so help me, if your mother tries to kill you, I just might help."

Zack winced, glad his dad couldn't see, and brought his good arm around his dad tight. "Sorry, Dad. I…" a range of lies flew through his head, when a gust of wind pushed his hair back, and he said, "the wind blew the money out of my hand and I had to go running after it, but I lost it so I came back around, but you weren't there, so I just…" The lie faded off as he ran out of ideas.

His dad huffed once more and set him back down on the ground, reaching into his pocket to pull out another bill and wave it in front of his face. "Zack, we're not rich by any means, but the next time that happens, don't go after it. Candy's not that important." He wrapped the bill up and grabbed Zack's hand, pulling him over towards the car with the pairs of green and blue eyes squished up against the window. "We'll manage." Opening up the car door for him, he let go of his hand and grabbed hold of his arms, squeezing them protectively with worried eyes. "But I can't manage you being lost."

It took all of his will's strength not to wince at his dad squeezing his arms. Grinning nervously, Zack nodded rapidly. "Right, right, Dad. I'm sorry. It was all just a big misunderstanding." He wiggled a little to try to hint that he wanted to be let go, but his dad was still staring at him with those stricken eyes. Taking a deep breath, Zack tried to pour as much sincerity as he could into his grin and shrugged. "Really. No need to have a cow. Or the whole barn, or whatever it is what you're doing is called. Okay?"

It took him a second, but he nodded, albeit smally, but it was there. As soon as his hands dropped from his shoulders, Zack jumped into the car, pushing Josh and Phil over to the other side and shot his dad one last grin before shutting the door. His dad lingered outside and took his time getting back into the driver's seat, but soon enough he was turning the key.

As the car started up again, Josh's eyes zeroed in on his cast and widened with seven-year-old curiosity. He pointed to a particularly large one in red, his finger just an inch from touching. "Hey, new signature?"

Zack didn't look down. "Yep."

Josh smiled sweetly at his big brother, trying to make light of things as he read the name, "Aug…ust… August?" He looked back up at Zack in surprise, his mouth falling open. "That was the big red-headed kid right?"

"Whoa!" Phil suddenly yelled enthusiastically with a light in his eyes that danced, poking his finger on the window on the other side of the seat. "That fat kid has a gajillion gumdrops in his mouth!"

"We don't use words like fat, Phil," Arnold muttered mechanically, staring hollowly at the road in front of him.

Josh looked between his dad and Zack, a bit troubled, before he coughed and smiled brightly at Zack, his blue eyes alight. "Zack?"

Zack shook himself out of whatever stupor he'd been thrown into at Phil's exclamation and brought his eyes down to meet Josh's. Blinking, he tentatively nodded his head in affirmation. "Yeah, that's him."

Josh's smile widened. "So you're friends with him now?"

Zack stared at him, before he turned his head back out the window, his good hand coming up to pull his sleeves down lower over his arms. "No. No, he's gone, Josh. He's not friends with anyone." His eyes darkened as he stared out the window, and he muttered lowly, "He's just a useless ginger."

Josh blinked at him, puzzled. "Gingerbread is useless? But it's edible."

"Hey, I like gingerbread," Phil proclaimed angrily, no appreciating their conversation. "Don't talk about cookies like that! Cookies are nice. Now _raspberries_…" he threw himself back in the seat, pouting with eyes resolute, "raspberries stink."

Josh frowned at him. "Raspberries are awesome. You're just saying that 'cause Grandpa told it to you."

This statement of course sent Phil off into a rant that fueled an argument between the two children, and Zack was all too happy for the change in topic. For the most part.

He kept his trap shut for the rest of the ride.

* * *

><p>After passing by Slausens and confirming there was indeed no candy left, Arnold guiltily bought them ice cream instead, all the while keeping a firm hand on Zack's shoulder. He hid his grimace.<p>

As a result, the car ride home was spent licking their spoons and trying to clean Phil's face only to have his lemon bar smeared across theirs. Josh bore the worst of the brunt since he was sitting beside him but all he did was laugh, and Arnold and Zack couldn't help smiling, albeit tiredly. It was on the way home that Zack found out from his dad that his mother had been anxious about a few business ventures and couldn't resist stopping by the Beeper Emporium just to make sure things were still running smoothly. Arnold was out of sorts for it, and it made Zack want to strangle August for making his dad worry anymore than he needed to. He'd never wanted to hurt anything so bad before—heck, he'd _never_ wanted to hurt anything before, not once. He had been happy that August was gone, but now it felt like a curse. He'd never get to scream at him like he wanted or tear him limb from limb. He'd never get the chance to rip that hideous red hair from his head or give _him_ a cast for once.

He felt trapped and he couldn't talk to anyone about it. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He didn't break into a sweat on the ride home or do anything suspicious enough to make anyone ask if he was okay. He wanted desperately for his dad to notice or one of his brothers or _anyone_. For once, he wished he wasn't good at hiding things. He wished he wasn't good at lying. He wished someone would break him out of his nobility and demand to know what was wrong. But in the end, it was his burden, he was good at those, and there was no way he could throw any of this at his dad when he was already pulling at his hair and biting his nails over his mom. He vowed never to see that panicky, tearful face on either of his parents again for as long as he lived. And he was already beginning to hate it, but it was what he had to do, and he was going to do it.

Minutes after arriving home, the door to his room flew shut before he practically threw himself into his bed. His face hit the pillow with a hard plop and he exhaled into it, groaning a little as he'd forgotten his arm and uncomfortably moved it out of the way. Ignoring the pain best he could, he relaxed all his muscles and held his breath for a while, cutting off the oxygen to his brain and giving him a pleasantly dull feeling.

Soon it became too much, though, and he lifted his head to breathe, blinking his eyes open to his room. Inevitably, he brought a hand up to his shoulder and rubbed it a little, feeling the soreness there. He clenched his teeth, jumping off of his bed to rip open the door to his closet, where a mirror hung inside. It used to be on the outside of his door, but after August came along, he'd hung it up inside instead so he didn't have to look at himself. Now that thought made him clench his fists. Angrily, he grabbed the mirror off the door and kicked it shut, before throwing the shirt his dad had hung up there at some point to place his mirror back over the hook.

Amidst straightening it over the door, his eyes caught his own in his reflection and he stopped cold.

His eyes weren't blank pits anymore. Now his pupils were inflamed, his eyes black as death itself, hair crazy and unibrow narrowed dangerously. He looked like… like…

In an instant he was repelling away from the mirror in horror, watching as it fell off the hook and bounced off his carpet onto the floor.

His fractured arm trembled. With a staggered breath, he hesitantly reached down to pick the mirror back off of the floor, relieved to find it wasn't broken. Did this mean he had seven years good luck? A trembly smile stole his face at the thought, and he reached up to put the mirror back over the hook again, gentler this time, more precise. Things worked better with a cool head, he reminded himself. He wasn't like _him_.

With the mirror in place, his arms fell to his sides and he looked at himself. _Really_ looked at himself, from his lightly tanned skin to his darkened eyes to his bright blond hair. No, he wasn't an angry person. He wasn't the type to scowl or shout. That wasn't him. It never had been before, and he certainly wasn't about to let August's influence make him bitter enough to become like that. He took a deep breath.

Despite his efforts to calm down, his arm still shook, and he slapped a quick hand over it without thinking. Instantly he cringed, air hissing through his teeth from the thoughtless impact. Shooting a look over to his door to make sure it was locked, he looked back at himself and tentatively lifted the sleeve of his shirt up.

Permanent ink, red and striking against his skin zigzagged across the top of his arms and over his shoulder. Scribbled marks and hateful words, all emphasized by the sore pinkness surrounding them from the point being sharp. It would take weeks to fade, maybe months.

Words like 'worthless' and 'girly' and 'puny' lined his arms and made him tremble with deep-seeded resentment. He wasn't any of those things. He never had been, not once in his life. He was all alone with no one around, and in that moment, he realized that August was _wrong,_ about everything. The rage from before began seeping back into him, it showed plainly on his face and he let it consume him this time, if only for a moment. He'd been wronged and he had a right to be angry. He wasn't August, he was a fighter, a rebel. He'd stood up to him. Back in the alley, he'd just been too surprised to do anything. It didn't change a thing. Nothing about the last few months of torture changed anything about who he was. Being weak wasn't right, it wasn't what felt right running through his veins. It felt sickening, like he was betraying his parents and his own existence as a Shortman. What was the point of living if he wasn't alive? If all he did was allow himself to get thrown and beaten like a pound of brainless meat?

When he'd been laying behind that dumpster back at the school, right before everything changed, that was when it all culminated inside of himself. All the loathing and confusion and pain had exploded in his mind and suddenly, he couldn't do it anymore. Standing up to August had been almost like an out of body experience, amazing, inwardly chaotic and without control. It was like he wasn't himself anymore, but he was. He was someone better, stronger, someone utterly fearless and brave. That had felt right. That's what had felt real.

Being in control felt _good_. Having attention felt good. Being in the spotlight felt _incredible_. August thought he was worthless but somehow, proving just how wrong he was was almost intoxicating with it's empowerment. If people wanted a hero, they'd get one. They _did_ get one. From here on out, he wouldn't back down. He wouldn't just sit around and wait for things to get better. He would _make_ them better. Yesterday had proved he had an inner strength buried inside himself, something he'd always suspected but never acted on. His parents were both incredibly strong people, his grandparents were adventurers who'd faced countless perils, his great-grandpa had been in the war and his great-grandma was always coming to the rescue in times of crisis. He came from a long line of strong people, and he'd always known it, but somehow, at times, he'd felt like maybe it had just skipped over him.

_Clearly_ it did not.

Short man indeed. He stood up taller, puffing out his chest. It came more naturally this time and a smirk breezed across his lips. It was a good look on him, he decided. Somehow his face seemed almost born to wear a smirk. He'd always been a bit smirky but he'd never really looked at himself with it before, never really thought about it. He wondered how he never noticed how much it suited him.

Seeing how his hair was falling over his unibrow, hiding it very deliberately from view, Zack threw his head back and watched it fly the other direction, leaving his eyebrow bare to the world. He stared at it.

He didn't understand why August laughed at him for it. Unibrows weren't uncommon on boys or, heck, even girls. Yet suddenly just because it was _him_ it became weird? Zack humphed. Those girls from before didn't seem at all put off by it. If anything, they thought it was attractive. He squared his shoulders and eyed himself in scrutiny, sizing himself up. He was starting to look better and better to himself, not just in appearance but in personality. Because, _dang_, it was beginning to become almost comical just how off the mark August had been. And he'd _believed_ him. Ridiculous. It was so easily misconstrued that he was worthless when he never interacted with anyone or really _did_ anything but read and daydream. He'd gotten sloppy, he realized. He'd been so content with his homelife that he'd neglected his social one, and look where he'd ended up. Zack frowned, before a smile lit up on his face. From here on out, he'd just have to make it abundantly obvious how worthy he was of friendship and approval. He would leave no room for mistake. He was Zack Shortman, after all, son of Arnold and Helga Shortman, and he was freaking incredible. His class was easily turned to his favor. All he'd had to do was take five minutes out of his schedule to stand up to an oaf and suddenly he was Mr. Popular. It was so simple.

If he was going to continue on this road, though, the first place to start with his new outlook would be his clothes.

There wasn't anything glaringly _bad_ about them, but there seemed to be something missing. They were so plain. He looked too average. It was no wonder no one had ever tried to talk to him. He wouldn't have tried to talk to himself either. And not to mention, the sleeves of his blue shirt just barely covered the ink on his arms. It wouldn't do to have anyone notice that. A clothing change was definitely in order.

Looking around, his eyes caught sight of the shirt he'd thrown onto the floor. He bent over to pick it up and stared at it with slight bemusement. It was one of his dad's plaid shirts. Over the years it had become a joke between family friends to buy his dad those on the holidays when people didn't know what else to get him. As a result, he had shirts of all different colors and types that he never wore or liked, much preferring his own plain red and yellow striped ones. His mother got a kick out of hanging them up all over the house to bug him, and over time his father had taken to hiding them in his room in hopes she wouldn't find them. Zack usually didn't comment on it or pay it any mind. He was used to his parents doing weird things. This was the first time he'd ever really taken the time to really look at one of the shirts that had been plaguing his father.

This one actually wasn't so bad. Blue, probably why he hadn't really noticed it before—most things in his room were blue. Usually when he noticed a bright green or orange plaid shirt hanging strikingly against his decor somewhere or thrown hurriedly on the floor he'd just toss it in his closet. But this one had been hanging there for a while now.

It was really soft. A thick, simple black and dark blue pattern on a long-sleeved shirt. He slipped his arm through one sleeve and draped the other side over his shoulder, running the length of the sleeve over his cast to give a visage that he was fully wearing it. Looking back up at himself, he blinked in surprise, his eyes lighting up. "Hey, not half bad."

There was still something not quite right with it, though… Dark blue over dark blue just made him look like a stringy blueberry or something. Not that there was anything wrong with blueberries, never, but just because he liked them didn't mean he wanted to be them. Humming to himself in thought, he opened his closet door to root through his t-shirts. Blue, blue, more blue, light blue, dark blue, royal blue, aqua, azure, cobalt, periwinkle, indigo, sky, azule—criminy, he really needed to broaden his horizons a bit.

Heaving a sigh, he fell against the doorway and threw his eyes to the floor in defeat, only to have them widen when he noticed something dark hidden amongst a pile of horrific flannel. Reaching down, he realized it was a black shirt. Just black. No wonder it had gotten thrown on the floor.

Then again, black was cool wasn't it? Black was sleek, mysterious, and never went out of style—much like him, he thought. And the plaid was pretty much covering his blue obsession well enough… and it would match well with the black in the pattern. It was an idea.

He shed his shirts off in favor of his new find, and then plucked the plaid shirt back off the ground, leaving behind the old blue one as he walked out of his closet and looked at himself as he put the plaid shirt back on. With his clothes neat and falling comfortably over his body like his new best friends, he smiled. No, he _smirked_.

Smirked because he looked good. Smirked because August was wrong. Smirked because he just realized the red ink on his cast with August's signature perfectly matched the ink on his arms.

Zack's smirk was sinful, all twisting lips and shining teeth. "And bingo was his name-o." He cackled into the shadowy emptiness of his room, making his glass of water on his bedside table tremble.

* * *

><p>Zack blinked, staring down into the face of the small, fire-headed girl, a girl with no hope of ever matching his height and glaring up at him like an angry kitten. He came back to himself at that moment, the image of August fading away to the back of his subconscious where it belonged. And once that happened, well, there was only one thing to do. He smirked. Smirked the kind of spine-chilling smirk that only Zachary Shortman could pull off.<p>

Grabbing her wrist in his hand—so much larger than hers and easily wrapped around the delicate bones of her wrist—he pulled her finger away from him. He spoke with easy amusement, like she'd just yelled at him for getting the weather forecast wrong, "Whoa now, what have I said about getting too close to the merchandise? Calm down! You're talking to a teenage guy, I'm one of your kind, don't shout at me like I'm demonic." Releasing her wrist to shoot stiff to her side, he dusted himself off and grinned at her, before a swift hand shot out and grabbed the sucker right out of her mouth and popped it into his own. He crossed his arms. "Look, baby, doll-face, he-woman, there's a saying—you catch more devilishly handsome flies with honey than you do with vinegar. I gave you what you wanted—don't blame the salesman, blame the buyer." He adjusted the lollypop in his mouth and hummed, before raising half his eyebrow. "Cherry? Really? I'm more of a blueberry kind of guy." He popped it out of his mouth and offered it back to her.

But Pam looked like she was about to explode, her face bright red and mouth hanging wide open. She could barely think to speak. The nerve… The _nerve_… Her lips flapped, her voice echoing off the walls, "Where do you get off—"

He blinked, smirking again as he said sharply, "That's an inappropriate question." He stuck the lollypop back in his mouth, chuckling.

"Oh… ho, ho, ho," she waved her finger at him, grinning like the world just ended and it was all she could think to do, "you're even worse than I thought. To think the idea that you might be a deep, thoughtful guy under everything ever passed my mind. All you are is an egomaniacal idiot. There's really nothing more to it."

Zack stilled at that, those words echoing in his skull before rip-roaring laughter suddenly exploded out of his chest and he fell away to the floor. Tears came to his eyes and he slapped a hand to his head, barely able to contain himself. The lollypop still in his mouth fell back, and he nearly choked on it but managed at the last second to spit it out. He wheezed joyously, "Holy crap, I can't breathe!" He cackled, falling onto his side as he writhed on the floor. "A deep thoughtful guy! _Deep_!"

Pam's expression turned outraged at his reaction and she stood over him with her hands on her hips. "Shut up! You're an asshole, it's not funny, it's anticlimactic!" She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "So painfully anticlimactic… All of yesterday and today has just been a total disappointment. It was bad enough finding out the most popular guy in the class had written it, but it's even worse knowing my first reaction of you was dead on."

"Why would you have ever thought—" Zack laughed, tears coming to his eyes before he suddenly shot stalk-straight, demons suddenly roaring ferociously in his head. His mind caught up with exactly what she'd said and the entire universe burst into flames. "Wait a second…" he said very slowly, his eyes flying up to her face, "you said I was amazing at… that assignment… and it made you think I was deep… How could you…?" His lungs had run out of air, and all he could do now was squeak.

Suddenly Pam's defensive form went rigidly erect. It seemed like a lifetime to both of them before a high-pitched giggle suddenly broke the air and she began twirling a tendril of her hair around her finger. "Oh, _that_. Well, you see, uh…" her hair as tight around her finger as it could go, she panicked a little and forced her hair away, clasping her hands tightly in front of herself, "I just, was looking over your shoulder and I happened to see your grade. It's no big deal—"

Zack very slowly lifted himself up from the floor, his eyes not leaving her for a second. "I barely lifted it half an inch up, there's no way you could have seen," he disproved her immediately, stepping towards her with a sudden purpose. Suspicion oozed from him like a thick slime as he began taking measured steps towards her, matching her own as she retreated. "You call _me_ a bad liar? That was pathetic. You're worse than my brother."

Grabbing her by the arm, he stopped her from backing from him and pulled her closer, glaring determinedly into her face. This girl already knew, someway, somehow, she _knew_, and she had just become the ultimate threat. And if there was one thing Zack hated most in the world, it was a security breech. "You think I didn't realize you never told me your last name before? I'm _Zachary Shortman_. Nice to meet you, now let me tell you a few need-to-know facts about myself, lest you make the mistake again—I hear all, I see all, and inevitably, I _know_ _all_. So you like things to be straight forward, right? Then tell me now, in order, who _are_ you, and how did you _find out_?" He gripped her arm, clenching his teeth.

Pam's face was white as ash, her pupils the size of ants as she stared into his hardened face. She practically squeaked her answer, "Schmidt."

Half of Zack's brow went up sharp enough to cut led. "Come now, you can do better than that. Be a little more creative."

She giggled a little, though this table switch didn't at all amuse her. "Morgernstern?" She shrugged her shoulders upwards, as if asking approval.

Zack cut his eyes in half. "Was that a question or a statement?"

Her mouth twitched. "Statement."

Zack pretended to mull this over, pupils wandering to the top corner of his eyes before he snapped them back to her and shook his head. "I'm going to go with no. Too elaborate." He pulled her in a little closer, grounding out, "Now tell me the _truth_…"

Pam growled back at him for sneering into her face like that, frustrated with how dramatically their positions had been switched, and shoved her nose to his in a death glare, contrary to how her voice shook, "Look, Monobrow, I don't have time for your games. My last name doesn't matter—"

"Pamella!" a voice suddenly yelled from down the hall as footsteps stampeded towards them, and she immediately shoved away from Zack to snap around in shock as Ms. Idleberry's furious face filled her eyes. As the graying woman stopped in front of her, she grabbed her by the elbow and yelled, "This is where you've been? You disappear at 6:30 in the morning to swap spit with some boy you barely know? How did you even get here? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Pam's mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to get any words out, "We weren't kissing!" Her face was twisted in revulsion just at the concept.

"I'd sooner French kiss a sweat sock," Zack muttered, unable to control his mouth.

Ms. Idleberry caught his incohenerent mutter and snapped her eyes angrily on him. Her ire immediately cooled a little at seeing him. "Oh, it's you, Zachary… Well," she brought her olive green eyes back to Pamella's, "your standards have certainly skyrocketed, I'll give you that. Won't your brother be proud." The last part left her sarcastically.

Pam's face went as red as her hair and she shuddered. "It wasn't like that, seriously. His dad just gave me a ride, that's all—"

"And you didn't tell me?" she raged, though her eyes were large and filled with concern. "Ella, I'm surprised at you. I know we're not as close as we used to be but I had hoped—"

"Mom," Pam interrupted her guiltily, gently taking her hand off of her arm. She gave it a couple comforting pats before she let it go and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm still not used to getting up so early and I wasn't thinking. Plus, I mean, I thought it would be better considering—"

"I know," her mother grabbed her into a hug, before she pulled away enough to point a stern finger jokingly in her face to try to lighten things, hating having to scold her, "but you have to let me know about these things, Ella." Her face hardened. "Seriously."

Pam pursed her lips a little tightly. "It's Pam, Mom." Her face softened then, guilty once more. "But okay, it won't happen again. I promise."

"My little Ella," she said affectionately, before she patted her on the shoulder and adjusted her clothes to their once more pristine state, her face falling back to it's blank state. "All right, Pamella," she said authoritatively, "I expect I'll see you especially on time for class?"

Pam nodded begrudgingly, suddenly acutely aware of the blue eyes baring into her back. "Yes, Ms. Idleberry."

"Good girl." She began down the halls once more, casting a friendly look to Zack as she passed. "Zachary."

"Ms. Idleberry," Zack acknowledged as she went on her way, the picture of innocence, before she disappeared from sight and the nastiest smirk suddenly spread across his face. It gave Pam chills as he turned his smug eyes on her, drinking her in. "Oh, now isn't this delicious?" He took a small step towards her, smirking even more as she took a small step back. "Pamella Idleberry." He cackled. "How quaint!"

"Yeah, whatever, _Shortman_," Pam groaned, arms stiff at her sides and eyes unwilling to meet his own, "don't go there…"

"And why not?" Zack bubbled gleefully, practically bouncing on his feet. Karma his ass, he was invincible. "It completely makes sense now!" He twittered his fingers in her face, face ruefully delighted. "Ahhh, you nearly had me there, I didn't even realize. You were up way too early to be planning to go to school at the regular hours, and you didn't know when our lunch period was. You're new here!"

Pam threw her head back, groaning to the Heavens before she looked at him in despair. It was too late anyhow, so she explained, "I'm not good with schedules, but, just…" She sighed. "I used to live with my dad but he got remarried so my brother and I moved in with my mom, and I had to switch high schools. But she lived in a small apartment so on top of all that, we had to move to a new house." She rubbed her eyes with her palm, suddenly spent just at the memories. "And now this."

"Oh, criminy," Zack's pupils suddenly receded, sucking in a breath, "this means Ms. Idleberry is my new neighbor too." He slapped his forehead. Maybe karma was still on his tail after all. Now he'd have to deal with seeing her overly cheery, irritating face every day bothering him about how his 'art' was going.

"You can't tell anyone about this," Pam suddenly yelled with newfound panic, shattering his inner dreadings as she grabbed him by his arms. "I've been keeping it a secret and my mom's actually agreed to go along for once! I don't want anybody to look at me like some teacher's pet. It's hard enough going to a new school without everyone judging you right off the bat."

"But you're so good at barking—" Zack tried to quip, wiggling his arms to try to get free.

"Oh, shut up," Pam cried, in no mood. Letting go of him as if he'd suddenly caught flame, she looked him up and down and demanded, "Tell me you won't tell anyone."

"Oh-ho, _only_," he pointed a finger straight up in her face, his face dire, "if you keep your lip zipped about my… my…" geez, he couldn't even say it, "_it_," he settled ominously, trying to keep the grave seriousness on his face despite how ridiculous that sounded.

Pam raised an eyebrow. "It?" It took her a while to process it, but when it did she couldn't help smirking slightly. "Oh, you mean the fact that you're a regular William Shakespeare—"

Zack's entire body twisted in disturbing ways at the compliment and he moaned in torture, "How did you find out?"

Pam twirled the end of her ponytail and looked away with an amused smile. "_Well_, since you asked so nicely…" She giggled, her enjoyment in this situation irritatingly clear. "I helped my mom grade the poetry papers, and I just so happened to come across yours." Her eyes became more genuine. "It was amazing. You're very talented."

Zack groaned at the accursed words, running a rough hand through his hair so it stuck up even more dramatically. "_I know_. It's horrible."

"No it's not!" Pam defended him, slapping a hand on his shoulder without thinking. She ignored how it went stiff. "I love how you went for free-verse instead of just regular old rhyming. Nobody else did that. Or at least not well." She grimaced.

Zack sighed out in exasperation, his hair falling over his face as he looked up sadly, asking the universe _Why_. Why now, of all the times, did karma have to come after him _now?_ He spoke the words like he was trying not to vomit, "But I was trying to make it _not_ good."

Pam blinked at this, confused. "But it looked so professional—"

Zack shrugged her hand off his shoulder and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes to one side and refusing to look at her. "I ditched the rhyme scheme on purpose because I was hoping Ms. Idleberry would be dim enough to mark me down if she didn't understand it. I guess my low opinion of her was a bit too below the bar."

Pam's eyes flashed and her voice suddenly went up an octave, "Hey, that's my mom you're talking about, and _I'm_ the one who graded it!"

His eyes snapped to her at that, a tad startled a moment before he smirked. "Oh no, it's okay, I don't hold a high opinion of you either. I would have assumed the plan would have worked either way, so it doesn't really change anything." He raised half his eyebrow at her. "You know, now that I think about it, I can't believe I didn't assume you were Ms. Idleberry's spawn sooner."

Pam growled and pushed him. "Stop being such an ass!"

Zack stumbled only a little, before an amused grin came to his face and he stepped closer still to her. "Ah, come on, but it's my specialty. It's like if I suddenly yelled at you to stop being slow."

Pam looked flabbergasted. "What?"

Zack grinned with sparkly eyes, absolutely amused. "_Exactly_. That right there."

Pam sputtered a few moments before she smacked her mouth shut, a vein throbbing in her neck. She put her hands to her mouth, looking wretched. "Oh, God, your poor parents. I can't even spend more than a day with you without wanting to explode. They must be gods or something."

Zack chuckled, flipping his hair out of his face with a grin. "That's adorable. My parents are lucky to have me."

Pam shook her head at him, still looking grave. "I don't have the patience for this. I've tried to be nice to you but all you've done is yell at me for no reason—"

"And you haven't been?" Zack suddenly burst out, his jaw dropped at the sheer audacity. "All you've done since I met you is stick your nose where it doesn't belong and insult me left and right. I told you from the beginning that my grade wasn't your business!"

"I made it my business!" Pam yelled back, poking a thumb at herself with a scowl. "I've been needing to talk to you but you keep running away! As soon as your eyes landed on me you decided you hated me even though you don't know anything about me!"

"Oh, and like you haven't done the same thing," Zack spat with rising ferocity, his eyebrow narrowed. "You said it yourself, as soon as you saw I was popular you decided I was stuck up. The only reason you ever took an interest in my grade or me was because you want something from me." His eyes dry and mouth twisted, he leaned down to her and said, "Well, spit it out already. Considering your opinion of me, I assume you weren't looking for an autograph."

Pam pursed her lips, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. "Well…"

"Here it comes!" Zack waved his arm in the air before he spun on his heel, crossed is arms, and sulked.

Pam groaned and rolled her eyes at the dramatic gesture, falling forward into a couple steps so she could peek her head around to look at him dryly. "Okay, yeah, I do want something, but you have every right to say no."

"No." Zack picked up his backpack and began off down the hall.

Pam's eyes bolted open and she raced after him, yelling, "Whoa, wait, you can't go!"

At her yell, he just began walking faster. He power-walked stiffly around the corner, only to get tackled to the floor the next second by the redhead. He toppled over in a throw of limbs and Pam went with him, the situation ending with his back being all but straddled by her as she poked her head over to look at him upside down. He ground his teeth, hardly knowing what to say, so he settled simply on allowing a sort of whining grunt to draw from his mouth.

Pam just blinked, her eyebrows furrowed in stubborn determination and tendrils of glaringly red hair swinging in front of his nose.

Finally, he managed a coherent phrase. It was sarcastic, naturally, "Can I_ help you_?"

Pam cut her eyes at him. She hadn't meant to tackle him, but this was actually a great way of keeping him from running away. She should have just lassoed his ass down days ago and tied him to a tree, she mused. She smiled then, unnervingly enough, trying to be cheerful in hopes he'd want to agree with her demands. "Yes you can. You can help me a great deal. If you just hear me out."

Zack's teeth chattered, not liking anything about this. "I already said no—"

"Well, no isn't a good answer for me."

Zack groaned. He was a patient guy, really he was, but it was grinding down really fast. Damn gingers always messed with his head. Still, he tried to be civil, at least for once now, "Look, anything that involves me writing, I guarantee is going to be a no. This is pointless and people are going to start showing up soon, you know?"

Pam smirked. "Well then maybe you should stop fighting the inevitable and finally listen to me."

Zack grunted. "Can't you just send me to the gallows instead?"

Pam's cheerful face immediately filled with anger and she grabbed hold of his hair, pulling his head back slightly to glare at him. "Look, it's not that bad. I just want you to write one poem—"

"It's not happening, Red!" Zack suddenly slid his arms up and pushed his palms flat against the floor, effectively sitting himself up enough to pry her hands off of him and gently push her off. He gave a violent shudder then and shook himself, as if shaking off some toxic sludge before he stood up from the floor.

Pam sat up from the floor and glared at him, her shoulders stiff. "Come _on_, why not? It can even be anonymous! I don't care how you do it! I just need that poem!"

Zack heaved a breath loaded down with exhaustion and leaned over to grab his backpack up again. "What you _need_ is therapy. Or, better yet, how about I just call up the men in the white coats to come down and get you instead? I mean, you clearly have a death wish," he leaned down and cut his eyes at her, "Ms. _Idleberry_."

Pam winced at the silent threat, before her face strengthened and she pushed herself off the floor, not taking her glaring eyes off of him for a second as she replied, "Right, Shortman, you want to play it that way…" Rolling up the sleeves of her jacket, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, blue clashing with green. "Let's look at this logically. If people found out I was my mom's daughter, everyone would automatically start associating me with her and there's no telling what could happen. It could be horrible or it could be nothing. Now with you," she pointed a finger at him, "if people suddenly found out the great," she put metaphorical stars in her eyes and put a hand to her chest, eyes wandering off in awe, "_Zachary Shortman_," her face fell flat, "was good at something typically associated with girls, well…" she smirked, "you wouldn't be so macho-macho then would you? Your reputation would be shot. It's a guaranteed disaster."

As Zack stared at her, dumbfounded, Pam kept her smirk and crossed her arms over her chest. "I want what I want enough that I'm thinking maybe I'm willing to take the risk. The real question here is: are you?" She raised an eyebrow, shooting his own smug eyes back at him.

* * *

><p>Sneaking out of the house wasn't a hard thing to do with his mom out of the house. He just turned his music on, locked his door and stuffed a few pillows under his covers just in case. Then proceeded to take said covers and tie them up into a rope, before tying it off on the legs of his bed and throwing the rest of it out his window.<p>

He knew his dad would lose his mind if he found out, but the way Zack saw it, he wouldn't ever find out anyway. He had something he needed to do before dinner, and there wasn't a flying chance his father would let him out of the house after today. He had no choice.

So after a brisk run through the streets of his neighborhood, he stopped at the bus stop not too far off and waited. It wasn't long before he was on his way to Hillwood.

And the police station.

* * *

><p>August sat in his usual spot during this time of day. Kicking his legs off the side of the pier and munching on a corndog, right on schedule, when all the kids made sure to steer clear of the place. The pier was a ghost town, so much so that the nine-year-old half expected a tumbleweed to roll by.<p>

His first thought was inevitable. _No witnesses_. He took in a deep breath, reminding himself he knew what he was doing. He'd already gone too far to back out now, and he was tired of sitting around and doing nothing. With this thought in mind, he adjusted his black shirt, pushed his hair back, and smoothly curved the corners of his mouth skyward. He could do this. He could definitely do this. He was Zack Shortman, he could do this.

He gulped suddenly, allowing a small sweat to break out over his forehead. Yes, he could do this, but August could do this too, and he was still bigger. Much bigger. And stronger. And reckless. He shook his head of the disturbing thought quick before it could progress any further, and began over towards where his every nightmare sat, allowing his footsteps to creak against the old wood without constraint.

When August came to the pier, he did it for three things: peace, quiet, and semi-nontoxic food. And for almost all of seven years, he had been undisturbed—and if by some billion-to-one chance he was, the kid was always out of sight again as soon as he or she realized they'd stepped into the lion's den. So when he heard the footsteps coming from behind him and turned around to see one of the twerps, just like always his eyes narrowed, only to widen when he realized just which twerp it was and that he wasn't running. "Shortie?"

Zack grit his teeth as he came to a stop in front of him. "Zack actually."

August smirked, suddenly much more interested in the proceedings. "I think I'll stick with Shortie." Standing up to demonstrate this fact, the young man stood over him like a brick wall, casting a shadow more than big enough to keep him in perfect shade.

Zack's pupils dilated, but that was the only sign of a reaction he gave. August raised an eyebrow at him, humorously taking in his new clothes and how comically too big the plaid shirt was on him. "Aw, did you come down here to show me your new dress, Princess? I know you didn't come to bid me farewell again." He cracked his knuckles.

Zack took in a breath and looked him in the eye, nearly having to crane his head back to do so. "Actually I came to warn you."

August used the bare corndog stick to pick some meat out of his teeth. "Apocalypse here already? Well," he flicked the stick at him, smirking as it bounced off his nose, "bring on the demon babes."

Zack's face hardened, his lips disappearing in a straight line. August was at ease, which could only mean one thing—he thought he'd won. Zack's eyes darkened at the notion and he tried to cross his arms, only to realize with a start that his arm was in a cast. He hurriedly snapped his good arm to his side, hoping August hadn't noticed his slip. "_No_… It's just that clearly you forgot my warning from before, so I thought I should remind you."

August looked bored. "Oh? You mean that threat to run crying to the teacher?" He smiled, perfectly at ease. "I don't even go to that school anymore, remember? I assumed they told you, considering we're bestest best friends."

"Ohhh," Zack straightened his lips into a grim line, his eyes a bit dry, "well if this game we've been playing makes us bestest best friends, August, I guess we're about to get about ten times chummier."

August raised an eyebrow, still looking bored with a bit of amusement prancing about in his eyes. "And by that you mean…?"

Zack pulled a picture from his pocket and extended it out for him to look at. It was a somewhat distant snapshot of his signature on his cast beside the ink marks on his shoulder. August looked at it, but his expression didn't change and he didn't seem to get the meaning behind the picture, which was fine because Zack was more than happy to elaborate, "The ink matches perfectly. I went down to the dollar store to ask if anyone had come in to buy a red pen too. They have you on file. I even found said pen still laying on the floor where you dropped it after…" he forced back a scowl, "the incident. It's in a bag hidden somewhere. What do you want to bet it still has your finger prints?" He raised half of his brow.

August stared down at the picture for a long time, before he brought his eyes to Zack's in disbelief. "Are you blackmailing me, short man?"

Zack deposited the picture back into his pocket, his eyes intent on the task as he swept the tails of his shirt out of the way. "I warned you not to mess with me anymore. You didn't listen. So I guess…" he kept his eyebrow raised as he brought his eyes back up to the bully's, "yeah, I am blackmailing you."

"You can't be serious…" August looked like he was on the verge of laughing, his eyes sparkling with hidden mirth that had his skin crawling. "You don't know where I live or go to school anymore. You think you're going to keep me under your thumb when you don't even know where I am? And for what? By this time tomorrow, you'll never see me again." His eyes narrowed as he leaned down to inspect him closely, his head-sized fists on his hips. "Isn't that what you wanted? Why push your luck? You're just a little fail fly. I went _easy_ on you before, but you're easily dispatchable if you cross me."

Zack held back a grimace at his hot, corndog-ridden breath hitting him in the face, but he held his ground. With a rather nasty glare, Zack stated, "I wanted to make sure you never bully _anyone_ again, not just me. That was the deal." He snorted rather hard then and threw August back a step in surprise. Zack's glare only hardened. "You can't run from me, August. I talked to your grandpa."

August's eyes widened. "You did what?"

"Mr. Bailey, the creepy old guy who works down at the hall of records?" Zack raised half of his eyebrow, as if he needed to know. "I asked him where you lived. I assumed since you stayed home today that your parents already knew you'd taken yourself out, so I went for a quick visit. I told them we were friends." Zack smiled ruefully. "They told me everything."

August stared at him. One of his eyebrows flinched. "You're bluffing. Grandpa wouldn't ever tell you anything."

Zack felt a slight rush, and the tiniest smirk lit up on his face as he began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "No, I'm happy to say I'm not. You'd be surprised what a couple boxes of donuts will do." His smirk became a little bolder, a piece of his fear fell away. "You live on Edgewood drive, right on the edge of the city, zip code 81260. The school your parents are enrolling you in is P.S. 117, a little farther away than P.S. 118 but apparently boasting high academic prowess." Zack clicked his tongue, eyes having wandered away as if in thought before he smiled insincerely and added, "Oh yeah, I also went down to the police station—"

"You did _what_?" August went to grab his collar, but Zack expected this and took a few quick steps back away from him, wagging his finger as he admonished, "Ah, ah, ah, no touching the merchandise. What will people say if they see me floating in the lake? People have seen you try to hurt me now. There are a ton of witnesses, all of whom would jump at the chance to see you in jail."

"'All of _whom_'?" August clenched his teeth, his fists shaking at his sides. "I oughta pound you just for that."

"Oh right," Zack snapped sarcastically, "I forgot you were held back _five years_."

August's eyes widened.

Zack nodded his head eagerly, grinning almost too happily for the redhead's comfort. "That's right, I told you. I know everything now. Where you live, go to school, your family, your pet guinea pig named Lector…" His face suddenly darkened. "Nice name by the way."

August was practically shaking when he took a tense step towards him, his hands held out like he wanted to strangle him, though he didn't come any closer than that. His breath was heavy as he breathed out, "You sneaky little—"

Zack just smiled crookedly, his eyes lidded halfway. "Yeah, I think that's been established. I know everything, I am everywhere and nowhere simultaneously." He rubbed his fingernails against the collar of his shirt, smirking ever so slightly. "You can't beat me. Literally or figuratively."

August tilted his head to him, his face twisted in utter baffled incredulity. He looked at him as if he'd never seen another human before in his life. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with, short man? How hard did you hit your head on that dumpster?"

Zack took a sudden step forward that lit the dock on fire, the anger he'd been trying to keep back suddenly possessing him for a split second as he spat out, "Yes, but clearly _you_ haven't had even the slightest clue who you've been dealing with all this time. _Stupid ginger_."

August's jaw clunked to the ground. A second passed where everything froze but the wind, and even that seemed to go in slow motion before August flew forward and grabbed Zack's shirt in a vice-grip, his eyes all but hidden by his shaggy, red eyebrows. He shouted, "Listen, you little punk, you like sticking your nose where it doesn't belong? How about I stick it up your _butt_?"

Despite his best efforts, Zack couldn't help trembling a little at the fury in his face, suddenly acutely aware of just how stronger August was than him. Poking the bull with an inflamed stick wasn't a good idea apparently. But with a deep breath, he managed just enough nerve to raise his eyes to August's and said, "You can't hurt me."

August sneered, a malicious grin springing to his face. "Wanna bet, Shrimp? I'm going to juvie either way, so what do I care? Might as well finish the job." He gripped his fist tight into his shirt, choking him a little with his own shirt.

Zack's eyes widened for a split second and he held his breath, before he managed to breathe out, "You're not going to juvie."

"What's that, Pest? I couldn't hear you over the sound of your airways clearing." He smirked, and Zack realized from this proximity that his eyes weren't brown or red. They were hazel.

Zack didn't know what got into him. Probably the same thing that got into him back at the playground he guessed. He didn't know, but whatever it was caused his good arm to shoot up and force August's hands away, with a force that he hadn't known he possessed in himself. He stumbled back a few steps, his blond hair falling over his face again, and shot his eyes angrily at August. "I said you're not going to juvie! I stopped by the police station… I didn't actually go in!"

"You what?" Once again August's eyes widened, and the anger from before fled his features.

Zack took a breath, forcing away his own anger, and straightened himself. "I didn't turn you in." Seeing he was speechless to how to respond, Zack sighed and patiently explained, "I met with your parents remember? It took twenty minutes to get them to even look at me because they were so busy fighting. I saw the backwards writing on the desk in your room when I went looking for evidence. I know everything." He watched as the redhead stiffened, and that was all the resolve he needed to finish with, "I really don't think you deserve a second chance, but I'm giving you one anyway."

August blinked at him. "I… don't get it."

Zack resisted rolling his eyes, and drawled with a bit of sarcasm, "I didn't expect you to." August still didn't seem capable of a proper response, as his head was busy shooting sparks, so Zack added, "All I want is for you to stop hurting people. That's it. If the only way to do that is to lock you up, then that's just sad." Zack glared. "But make no mistake. If I hear you lay a hand on anyone ever again, you're _history_. This isn't a game anymore." A shrill beeping filled the air, and Zack looked down at his watch in surprise. With a glance at August, his unibrow high, Zack said, "Well, that's it for me. I hope I made myself clear."

Zack began walking away, his footsteps heavy on the creaky wood before he meandered up the steps to get off onto more sturdy territory. He was stopped by August's suddenly said, "Pretty good move, short man. Confusing the enemy."

Zack turned his head to him, his hand still on the railing, and raised half of the eyebrow shielded by his hair. "It's not just pretty good, Bailey. It's over. Oh, and by the way," he pushed his hair back to show his unibrow as a devilish smirk suddenly tore across his face, "you were wrong. The ladies _love_ the brow."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **YEP, THERE IS NO ESCAPE, THERE'S STILL ONE CHAPTER LEFT XD One that'll hopefully be much better than this one. -_-

This was the darkest chapter, AND the longest, AND the most poorly written. D: I may come back and try to re-write it again in the future. Super serious crap like this isn't my forte, but I wanted to practice it. xD Plus, I mean, when I was thinking up backgrounds for these kids, the idea of one of _Arnold and Helga_'s kids being bullied was just... too hilariously ironic to pass up. XD

The next one's _much_ happier and has much more comedy, though, as it is the finale. xD It's got TONS of fun stuff. Zack's reaction to Pam's diabolicalness, Pam's big reason for chasing Zack down about his poetry, the final progression into Zack becoming the world's biggest egotistical butt-wad, a flashback that reveals how Zack and Jaron first met, a reveal of who Ham's best friend is, Zack finding out about Phil's evilness, and some AxH fluff. XD So in other words... just, a LOT of crap. xD REVIEW IF YOU WANT IT. FEEL THE BURN. I know I felt it. *Smashes head against monitor* OH, and answer the poll on my profile. XD Please and thanks!

So, something I wanted to mention... it may seem a tad weird that I put in that August's eyes were hazel instead of brown. xD I did that because Zack always mistook August for having red eyes in his mind, and hazel eyes are often mistook for brown, and also tend to appear as a lot of different colors sometimes, including red, green, blue, and even sometimes purple (I know 'cause I have hazel eyes xD). So there's kind of some progression going on there. His eyes went from red, to brown, to finally, hazel. Because August does have reasons for being a bully and as Zack started realizing them and uncovering his reasons for it, how August appeared to Zack changed as well. I did this because the entire moral of Zack's chapter is that not everything is always what it seems, and people have reasons for being the way they are, whether it's bad or good or too good or whatever. HA! was always very big with that moral, so I wanted to put that in. August has dyslexia, he's got OCD, his parents fight all the time, etc., so the reason he beats kids up is because it gives him control, something he doesn't have a lot in his life. Does that justify his actions? No, but it explains them. Does Zack's being bullied justify his jerky need for control and overconfident, pompous behavior? No, but it explains them. See what I did thar? Try to understand people before you judge them.

Also, Idk if anyone's read my fics closely enough to realize, but Ms. Idleberry is actually a very old OC of mine. XD She appeared in "Too Little, Too Late" as a substitute teacher at P.S. 118 when Arnold and Helga were kids. XD And there she was young, freshly married, gorgeous and just starting out in her career... Now she's graying, divorced, bitter and with two kids xD! ROFLMBO

Okay enough rambling. I'll rant more in my final A/N to Zack. Carry on, citizens. XD *Salutes you all*

_**REVIEW!**_


	14. Looking Up: Part 6

**A/N: **IT. IS. DONE.

DO YOU HEAR ME, WORLD? I FINISHED THIS.

IT SUCKS RAW DONKEY LIVER AND IT NEARLY FREAKING KILLED ME, BUT I DID IT.

I HAVE SUCCEEDED. AT A THING. THAT IS THIS THING. AND OMG.

Literally, I spazzed out so hard on Tumblr when I realized I was finished (I think I made at least one person feel awkward, so mission accomplished there also). xD It is 30,000 words, yes, almost precisely, thanks for asking... I'm very sorry for that. xD It was a beast to write, but I feel... I feel... I don't know how to feel. I felt pretty dang giddy yesterday, but now I think I'm just so overwrought with emotion that I'm kind of numb. xD I really love writing for this. It's like a passion. xD

Oh, Lord thou art in Heaven, my God, I just, I can't, gahhhh... LET ME HUG ALL OF YOU.

**~Flawless Human Beings~**

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I love all of you so much, I just... *Blows nose in Mom's shirt* Any and all support has been greatly, ridiculously appreciated. You have no idea, every review I got spurred me on for at least another thousand words. Oh, and I'm sorry, but I just have to comment—HufflePufflin... That's like the best username ever. xD Thank you for existing. All of you!

Okay, okay, I'll shut up now. xD ...I always tell myself I'll be all brief and aloof in my A/Ns and yet somehow that never happens... Oh well. :'D

**Disclaimer: **Okay, "HEY ARNOLD!" belongs to Craig Bartlett (FOREVER), can't find who the hell wrote the first poem anymore but it's not mine (obviously, although it was slightly altered to fit my purposes), the second poem is titled "The Fighter" and is by S.E. Kiser (again, not me). I... think that's it. xD OH, and I own the Shortman kids, Jaron, Reuben, Riley, Kassidy, Sophie, and all of them. Steal and prepare to be obliterated. I do _not_ however own Taro Joawesome (he belongs to **metalheadrailfan**, thank you for letting me use him), and the lovely Kori Johotson belongs to **xxP00h67chu** on dA. Pamella Idleberry will forever be the creation of **Panfla** and I. That is all. *Passes out***  
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**Special Thanks to: **Everyone who's shived a git for my silly story. XD But mainly, of course, to **Peter Panfla**, who I have dedicated this to. x) As well to all who have supported me in this and reassured me when I was being a little bleep. xD You know who you are, and I love you. :) Thank you!**  
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><p><strong>Looking Up<br>**

**Part 6  
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* * *

><p>Zack stared at her for a long time, his eyes wide and calculating, before finally, the smallest of smirks spread across his face, something akin to respect entering his eyes. Pam went a little rigid. He didn't say anything for a while, but soon enough, his voice came almost velvety in the empty halls of the high school, "It would appear we've gotten off on the wrong foot." Seeing her blink at him, he crossed his arms over his chest and just <em>smiled<em>. "I'll humor you. Why is this poem so important to you?"

For a moment, all Pam could do was blink in surprise. She'd expected him to put up more of a fight or to at least be begrudging or angry or _something_. She wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a really, really bad one. Knowing her track record, though, it was probably bad. "Uh…" She raised an eyebrow at him, her face guarded. "Has that creature on your forehead finally burrowed in and eaten your brain, Brow?"

Zack smiled at that, used to hearing comments like this from his brother. It was almost amusing hearing it from her. Almost. "You have two minutes before I lose interest and lock you in the supply closet for the day while I think up someway to dispose of you in a way that's at least… somewhat humane." His smile turned a bit lethal.

Her mouth twitched, finding it hard not to lash out at a threat like that. Even if it was empty, the desire to smack him was great. She took a deep breath instead, grabbing her ponytail for support, as if to ground herself to her sanity. "_Fine, _I'll get to the point…" Her eyes twitched a little with the need to roll, but she managed to keep them still. "You see, there's an annual poetry competition that's held every year at the Cheese Festival and—"

"Oh, criminy, that thing," Zack interrupted with an eye roll, his interest immediately shot, "you've already lost me."

"No, hear me out!_" _she commanded, her countenance demanding his attention. "This year the prize isn't just a year supply of cheese." They both rolled their eyes. She looked at him a bit more seriously then, her green eyes wide and open. "They're also offering a scholarship. A _big_ one."

Zack stared at her blankly for a second, before he smirked. "Thinking about college already? A tad ambitious don't you think, Turtle?"

Pam gave him a severe look. "It's not for _me_. It's for my stupid brother. He caught me reading your poem and demanded I ask you to enter for him. Half the reason we moved to No Man's land is because it's close to a college he wants to go to, but it's really expensive."

"And you wanted me to enter so your brother can get a free ticket to Nerdville." Zack chuckled with wide eyes, looking down at her coolly with an amused smirk. "Ah, I see. It all comes full circle."

Pam held back a glower at his relaxed demeanor, irritated by how he seemed to be taking everything she said with a grain of salt. This was sort of a big deal, not just for her brother but also for herself. Which was exactly why she swallowed down her frustration and clasped her hands in front of herself, her eyes beseeching as she compromised herself. "So you'll do it then?"

Rather than answering her question, he clicked his tongue a little with smug eyes and mused, "You know, I never would have taken you for the dutiful little sister type."

"Oh, God." She scoffed, her eyes immediately losing their desperation as she rolled them up. "I'm not. Nobody tells me what to do, especially not my brother. He's paying me to do this."

"Well, nobody tells me what to do either, Ginger." She shot a fierce glare at him for that and he returned it with vigor, a struggle for power being communicated silently in the air between them, like bullet after bullet deflecting each other in perfect unison. Sparks shot out of the air and Zack was careful to speak slowly, his gaze never wavering, "Explain this to me… _Why_ would I enter myself in a competition _everyone in town_ is going to know about on the threat that _you_ tell everyone? Either way I lose, so I don't see why I shouldn't just—"

"_I said_," Pam ground out, impatient, "that it could be anonymous. You could write it and my brother would sign his name at the top. Nobody would ever know it was you. Weren't you listening at all?"

Zack blinked, his glare unwavering, though his voice came plainly, "Not really, no."

Pam groaned and threw her head into her hands.

While she was busy wondering where she went wrong in life, Zack was considering her words, his face thoughtful. The truth of the matter was, it would be kind of nice to see one of his works win something for once, and without the threat of getting his head chopped off. Nobody had to know about it, and really, this little red headache had blackmail on him. _Nobody_ had blackmail on him. Ever. He was the one who had blackmail on everybody else. He knew everybody's dirty little secrets, not the other way around. It was strange but he almost had to respect her for that. Even if it was clearly a fluke.

For years he'd been trying to stomp down on his artistic ability, to obliterate it all together so he'd be truly safe from threats. But every time he wrote it was like he was possessed, like something stronger than him refused to allow him failure. It was a part of him, just as much as his arm or his leg or his eyebrow was. Even in his most mindless states, he'd find himself muttering verses, and it would pester him incessantly until he couldn't take it anymore and had to write it down on paper. He didn't even have to _think_ about it. The hard fact of the matter was, he was simply _incapable_ of writing a _bad_ poem. Even his worst work got praise, and it had been driving him crazy ever since he was nine.

That damnable part of himself was starting to take over now. The idea of being able to see firsthand what people thought, _real_ people and not just a bunch of starstruck, effortlessly impressed teachers, was… intriguing, to say the least. It would be an interesting experiment. Maybe he could win in this sick game after all, at least on some small level. He didn't like this girl but he had nothing against her brother—whoever he was he sounded like his kind of guy—and he had to admire her energy. She had a goal and she went after it. So really, in the end, what would be the harm in making everyone happy?

Nothing. Exactly.

"Give me a pen," he snapped his fingers at her hurriedly, "quick."

Pam shot her head up to glare at him. "Don't tell me to—"

He matched her look firmly. "Do you want your poem or not?"

Pam's eyes widened and for a moment she was frozen, before she grabbed her backpack and pulled out a pen, just in time to meet up with him ripping out a piece of paper awkwardly from a notebook half poking out of his backpack. She offered him the pen wordlessly and he snatched it out of her hand, instantly falling to the floor.

Pam was taken aback enough that she had to take a couple steps backwards, and she balked down at him scribbling in a rush with the paper held tight with one hand to the floor, his other one in a frenzy of words and inspiration.

"What the hell are you—" she began, but he interrupted her with a quick, rushed, "Shhhh," not taking his eyes off the paper.

For a full three minutes then he didn't say a word, and she was too shocked to say anything else as she watched in rapt confusion, before finally, he stopped. He didn't even look at what he'd just written. He stood up from the floor, paper in hand, and folded it neatly up into a little paper football before flicking it over to her. It hit her in the face and she scrambled to catch it out of the air, before she shot a glare at him.

He just shrugged, twirling the pen around his fingers. "Just have your brother copy it down in his handwriting and you've got yourself a bona fide acceptance letter from Dork Central." He raised his eyebrow high on his forehead and grinned. "Mind if I keep the pen?"

Pam blinked at him, her eyes widening. "Wait…" she eyed the paper football incredulously, "that's it?"

Zack stopped twirling the pen a moment to raise half of his brow at her. "What? Were you expecting fireworks?"

"No, but I _was_ expecting it to take, I don't know…" her mouth twitched, her face unreadable, "time."

Zack looked at her solemnly, a joke twinkling in his eyes as he tucked the pen away in his pocket. "Ohhh, I don't have a lot of that. Very busy schedule, I have to make unpleasantries like this fast." He tucked his notebook back into his backpack and zipped it up, before throwing it over his shoulder. He held his hand up to her when she opened her mouth, "No need to thank me, citizen, it's all in a day's work."

"Oh, get over yourself, I wasn't going to say thanks." She rolled her eyes, the hand still holding onto the paper football suddenly turning into a fist. "_This," _she waved the fist containing the poem at him, "wasn't a part of the deal. You need to spend time on something that will actually win, not just throw some five-minute piece of crud in my face and call it done."

Zack was unperturbed. "I never spend more than a few minutes on poems."

"That's ridiculous," Pam insisted, flipping the football in her hand up to hold between her forefingers. "You can't tell me that this is contest material. You wrote it on the _floor_." Amidst her complaints she began unwrapping the paper in her hands. "You know, you think I don't know you but I've been spending a lot of time around you in the past couple days and I'm starting to get really sick of your antics. You're completely self-obsessed, it's like you're not even of this world. One of these days you're going to have to face reality and get your bulbous head out of the sky."

"You'd be surprised at the view, though," Zack played along, deflecting her insults with a cool grin as he made a point of looking _down_ at her, hands resting on his sides. "Maybe you're just so used to staring at the ground to make sure you don't lose sight of it that you've forgotten to ever look _up_."

Pam looked up into his smug, beaming face and instantly went sarcastic, "Whatever keeps you sane, Brow, but the fact of the matter remains—don't play jokes with me, I'm not willing to play your mind games. I just want you to pay attention and—" She was so busy talking that she didn't realize she had the paper football completely open now, and Zack rolled his eyes with a smirk before grabbing her by a tendril of dark red hair and pulling her head down to look at the paper. Her breath caught.

_In the strength and the glory of power,_  
><em>In the pride and the pleasure of wealth<em>  
><em>(For who dares dispute me so dour<em>  
><em>Of my talents and youth-time and health?),<em>  
><em>I can laugh at the world and its sages<em>  
><em>I am greater than my peers who are sad,<em>  
><em>For he is most wise in all ages<em>  
><em>Who knows how to be glad.<em>

_I lift up my eyes to Apollo,_  
><em>The god of the beautiful days,<em>  
><em>And my spirit soars off like a swallow,<em>  
><em>And is lost in the light of its rays.<em>  
><em>Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you<em>  
><em>Come out of the shadows of strife<em>  
><em>Come out in the sun while I teach you<em>  
><em>The secret of life.<em>

_Come out of the world – come above it_  
><em>Up over its crosses and graves,<em>  
><em>Though the green earth is fair and I love it,<em>  
><em>We must love it as masters, not slaves.<em>  
><em>Come up where the dust never rises<em>  
><em>But only the perfume of flowers<em>  
><em>And your life shall be glad with surprises<em>  
><em>Of beautiful hours.<em>  
><em>Come up where the rare golden wine is<em>  
><em>Apollo distills in my sight,<em>  
><em>And your life shall be happy as mine is,<em>  
><em>And as full of delight.<em>

Pam gawked.

Zack continued to smirk.

And she had to read it over again to make sure she hadn't misread. And, irritatingly, she enjoyed every second of it. It was… even better than the first poem she'd read from him. And he'd written it on the floor. In a few minutes time. And it didn't make sense. And holy shit.

After a few she-didn't-know-what's longer, she finally mustered up the stamina to look up at him, but the only thing she could think to say was, "You know about Apollo?"

Zack blinked, this no doubt not being quite what he'd expected her reaction to be, before he shrugged and said a bit sarcastically, "No, who is this Apollo you speak of?"

Pam sighed and resisted an eye roll. Of course he'd say that. "Seriously. He's the son of Zues and Leto, god of light, sun, music, poetry, healing—he's one of my favorites. Along with Adonis of course." She couldn't help grinning, reading that part of the poem over.

Zack's eyes widened and he gave her a strange look, before he suddenly burst out in laughter. "Holy crap, you're a Greek geek?"

Pam shot her eyes up to give him a look, though for once it was more playful than annoyed. "No, what is this Greek you speak of?"

Zack snorted his near-thunderous snort, his lips twisted easily. "Touche."

Pam read the poem over one last time, before she began folding it back up and gave him a softer look, something different in her face. "Okay…maybe we did get off on the wrong foot after all, Zack."

Zack put a hand to his chest dramatically, his mouth and eyes wide. "Agh, you called me Zack. Someone call 911, I think I'm going into shock."

Pam punched him in the shoulder, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, you may be an ass, but this poem…" she looked down at it, "makes me think that maybe you're not… _so_ bad. No one who could write something like this could be." She shrugged, smiling at him in what he thought might be kindness.

Zack grimaced and took a small step back from her. "Look, just make sure you brother copies it down in his handwriting. And don't ever tell anyone we had this conversation, or else I'll tell everyone your secret, Idleberry."

The mood instantly changed and Pam's face hardened, leaning over into his space to glare. His cautious look instantly turned dangerous as he leaned in as well, his eyes sharpening at her response, "Well don't tell anyone my last name and I won't tell anyone your fluffy, little secret, Shortman."

They both looked at each other squarely, an understanding passing between them. Both their eyes were sharp and wide, and it took only a few moments more of this connection between them for them both to feel very uncomfortable.

Zack swallowed, slowly pulling away from the thickness in the air between them. Pam regarded him carefully. "Out of curiosity…" he said, raising half of his eyebrow, "who is your brother?" He folded his hands behind his back in an attempt to hide the slight twitching of his left arm.

Pam blinked at him, still cautious, before she shrugged and relented, "His name's Mike. Blue streaked hair, hazel eyes, girly ear piercing—really kooky looking. With us being neighbors now, I'm sure you'll be meeting him sooner or later."

Zack released a breath, but quickly covered up the show of relief with a smirk. "Yeah, I figured. Be sure to tell him I take cash exclusively. No checks or credit cards." He waved his arm in the air flippantly, as if that were the end of the conversation.

Pam's eyes narrowed. "After all this, you have the nerve to try to charge me?"

Zack tilted his head at her, still smirking. "Oh no, not you. This Mike person. When he wins, I want some compensation. I just laid my soul on the line for the guy and I don't even know him." He leaned over and batted his eyes at her, making an exaggerated pout. "The least he could do is buy me dinner."

Pam scoffed and pushed him away. He tone was a bit distasteful, "You're seriously that confident your poem's going to win? The entire city is entering."

Zack flicked his eyes up a second and replied, tonelessly, "This is Hillwood. Nobody writes poetry around here, and anyone who admits they do is a social pariah who bangs bongos and asks for money they never get. I have no reason to believe I won't come out on top. I always have in the past." He observed his nails in a show of distracted confidence.

Pam grabbed the hand he was pretending to look at and crushed it in her hands, surprisingly strong. She glared up at him indignantly. "I have blackmail on you remember? That was the deal. You do this, I don't tell—"

"I believe," he went on to correct, smiling sarcastically as he snatched his hand out of hers, "the deal was that if you don't tell, I don't broadcast your real name on the radio for the entire city to hear. Face it, Red—we're on even ground. Again. Just because you _say_ you're willing to take a risk, doesn't mean it couldn't still cost you dearly, and is it really worth the chance over a little pay? I know you don't want to have everyone look at you like the teacher's pet freak you really are." He smirked, satisfied with his assessment by the drooping look on her face. He went on, "There's no reason I can't ask to be paid for my services. You weren't expecting me to ever have blackmail on me in the first place anyway. I thought you'd be prepared with some kind of payment."

"Actually I was just counting on you being a good guy," Pam said emotionlessly, her expression dryer than the Sahara.

Zack smirked at that. "Sucks to be you then."

Pam sighed. "You have _no_ idea." She looked at him miserably. "How much?"

Zack blinked at her, surprised to have won in an argument that easily with her.

He was used to winning, accustomed to it really, but he'd grown to expect having to struggle over every little detail with her with no real satisfying end. He guessed they really were on even ground now, once and for all. His shoulders slouched slightly at the realization, arms slack at his sides. That ended quickly. The challenge had been terrifying, but he couldn't help but feel like there had never been any true threat. She seemed reasonable. Not a ruthless monster like… like he was. It had almost been refreshing having someone around to challenge him. Irritating as hell, but surprisingly refreshing.

Looking curiously down at the redheaded girl before him, he acknowledged it to himself. This wasn't his bully. This was Pamella Idleberry: obstinate, irritating, bad-tempered, stubborn, violence-prone, despicable—he shook himself to get his thoughts back on point—but not actually out to ruin his life. Just to get what she needed for her brother and get out. She had never had any intention of harming him, didn't even know she had any real power to do so. He'd just gone crazy over having a redhead running after him wanting to uncover his darkest secret, and she'd been offended by his disgust and lashed out. Taken the whole "You're a ginger and therefore inferior to me" thing personally, ridiculous as that sounded. She had just been defensive, that was all. Like him.

Maybe Jaron had been right all along. He pursed his lips for a second before quickly replacing it with a look of showy innocence, and he took a swooping step forward to bring an arm around her shoulders and start walking her down the hall. "I'll tell you what, Pam Cake—if I may call you that—this one time, I'll let it slide. But I'd like to ask for a small favor in return. Microscopic, really."

Pam looked at him warily. "What?"

Zack grinned at her. "Your friendship."

Pam stopped walking immediately. He tried to move forward but she wouldn't budge, so he stopped as well. After a few moments, she finally said, "What?"

"I want to be friends," he repeated smoothly, grinning as charmingly as he could muster.

Pam looked at him blankly. "What?"

He huffed out a harsh breath, amused. "Is that an echo I hear?" He knocked on her head and said loudly in her ear, "Houston! Houston, do you read? We didn't account for gingers in space!"

Pam made a noise of disgust and ducked out of his arm. She grabbed her kitten backpack off of the floor where she'd dropped it after he'd started trying to drag her off in a headlock and proceeded to throw the shoulder strap over her head. She spoke simply, "Why would you want to be friends with me?"

Zack shrugged, sauntering over to where she was standing, her back to him. "You're evil."

She turned her head to give him a sarcastic look. "Gee, thanks."

"Really," Zack said meaningfully, placing a hand over his heart as if he'd just given her the most sought after of compliments. "You're like the purest form of destruction I've ever come in contact with." _Second purest_. "No one's ever been able to best me before. You've managed to tie with me a few times now in a period of… not even two days. I could use you."

Pam snapped around sharply, startling him, and marched up to point a furious finger in his face. She looked livid. "Nobody's going to use me for anything! I do my own thing!"

Zack took a step back, putting his hands up in surrender. He smiled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like anything bad. I just meant… maybe we could be…" he took his time coming up with the right way to put it, still cautious of the tense look on her face, "partners."

Pam blinked at him, still looking distrustful of him. "Partners?"

Zack smiled carefully. "Yeah. Or, a sort of alliance? A truce? Playing for the same team? Like I said, you're evil. And this was too close a call for me. I can't afford for you to be my enemy." He licked his lips. "Or at least not legitimately."

Pam raised an eyebrow, drawing back slowly. "I don't understand…"

Zack smiled, a tad too smally to be his regular one, and said, "I didn't expect you to." Composing himself swiftly, he began walking down the hall again, needing to make at least some progress towards his locker. He was thankful to hear her footsteps trailing after him. He explained, "This may come as a shock to you, but I hate fighting. I didn't exactly find yesterday pleasant. And I'll admit I may have judged you too quickly."

"May have…" he heard her mutter.

He stopped then and swiveled on his foot, startling her as she very nearly slammed into him. He grinned. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'd like to start over." He offered his hand to her, smirking his best and friendliest. She stared down at it oddly. "Hey there, my name's Zack. I know I may come off like a jackass sometimes, but if you give me a chance, I promise I'm not such a bad guy." Her green eyes flicked up to meet his in surprise, and he smiled. "And your name is…?"

Pam stared at him for a long time, her eyes calculating.

Zack cleared his throat, trying once more, in a deeper tone, "And your name is…?"

After a couple more tentative seconds, Pam reached out to grasp his hand and shook it, smiling up at him conspiratorially. "Pamella Idleberry, it's… nice to make your acquaintance. I see you've noticed I have red hair, but don't worry. I promise if you get to know me I'm not soulless."

Zack pouted. "I wish I could promise I'm not dumb."

Pam gave a short laugh, before she recovered with a quick, "Dumb blond."

He smirked, squeezing her hand. "Soulless ginger." Letting go of her hand, he jokingly wiped it off on his shirt and said, almost to himself, "I'll have to get used to it."

Pam shrugged, her face blank. "This is your idea. Whether you do or you don't doesn't matter to me." She remembered the poem in her hand that moment, and she stuffed it in the pocket of her hoodie, causing a lollypop to be forced out the other end. She grabbed it quick before it could fall and held it to her chest dearly, pursing her lips. "I got what I wanted. I don't need anything else from you."

Zack eyed her. "But we are friends now, right? No more chasing after me, trying to make my life a living hell?"

Pam shot her eyes up to his, a vague sort of temperament in her eyes. "As long as you don't act like Count Doucheula to me and run away like a frightened jackrabbit every time I try to talk to you."

Zack took a step forward into her space and held his arms out, grinning. "Hey, I'm not scared of anything. See?"

Pam gave him a partially amused look, clearly not believing him. Someone walked past them then and they both started, Pam taking a quick step away from him and Zack looking around in surprise. Students had started flooding in, wandering through the halls with an unenthusiastic, specter-like purpose. Zack wondered how they could have not noticed the bell ringing.

"Hey, Zack," a random brunette said to him as he passed, a friendly smile lighting up his robust face. Zack shot a grin at him in response, a sharp, lengthy, "_Hey_!" bursting from his lips almost involuntarily. A moment later after he'd gone, Zack wondered who the hell he was.

"I…" Pam started, bringing his attention back to her as she shifted her backpack uncomfortably, "I should probably—"

"Oh—Oh no!" A girl suddenly came flying out of nowhere, twirling on her feet like a Raggedy Anne being spun like a top. She slammed into Zack with impressive force and he stumbled backward, nearly falling over himself before managing to right them. Pam was astounded by the incident but Zack appeared nonplussed, calm even as he stared down at the girl who was suddenly grinning sheepishly up at him, her legs bent and mangled beneath her. The girl's hair was insane; bushy carrot orange curls framing her narrow face with some pulled back into a ponytail by a green scrunchie that didn't seem at all like it should be strong enough to hold back such defiant hair, and eyes that shone with nervousness and unwavering fright, even as her smile was sweet.

Zack just blinked at her before righting her on her feet, and it became clear to Pam that this girl, on top of having mad hatter hair and the most worried face she had ever beheld, was also a giant. She was just nearly as tall as Zack, with gangly yet somehow willowy arms and legs; it was no wonder she had been so clumsy, Pam wouldn't know what to do with herself with limbs that noodle-like. Yet even as the girl was a tower beside her, Pam guessed she couldn't have been older than fourteen, fifteen at most, judging by her pudgy, unblemished face, which was currently flushed bright pink as she rushed to explain, stumbling and stuttering over her words, "I'm so, so sorry, Zack, it was an accident—"

Pam was shocked when Zack smirked at her, as if her obnoxiously red hair wasn't screaming for his attention. His voice was almost warm, understanding, "Hey, are you okay?"

The girl flushed even brighter, and Pam looked at her in disbelief as her eyes zeroed in on the floor, hands restless behind her back. "Yes. Thanks to you. Thank you for catching me."

Zack shrugged it off, as if it weren't abundantly clear this girl was smitten with him. "By this point, I consider it my job. I'm not even sure I want to know what you tripped over this time."

If her face got any pinker, it would explode. "Someone dropped an eraser."

Zack looked unsurprised. "Ah."

Her fingers twitched erratically over each other. "No, but—not like that, I didn't just trip over it, that'd be—No, it was a really cute, sparkly one and I bent down to pick it up because I thought I should put it in lost and found, because who would want to lose such a—"

"Hey, Kassidy," Zack interrupted her quite suddenly, his eyes and voice suddenly bright as he sidled over to throw his arm around Pam and crush her into his side. She didn't bother hiding her disgust as she pushed against him. He just held onto her tighter, his pale hand digging into the sleeve of her arm. "Have you met Pam?"

The girl, Kassidy apparently, looked between the two uncertainly. Her worried eyes rather reminded Pam of a frightened doe, along with the way her hands were held in front of herself gawkily, as if even she wasn't sure what to do with such impractical arms. She said rather quietly, "No."

Zack patted her shoulder firmly, further irritating her as he said, quite spiritedly, "That's because she's new here, but I already know you two will get along great, like long-lost friends. Pam," he gestured to her, then to the crazy haired one, "this is Kassidy. Kassidy, this is Pam."

Pam gave him a dry look, and elbowed him in the gut. He reeled away from her in pain and she dusted off her arm, rolling her eyes. Turning her attention to the girl then, Pam smiled, giving her a mildly amused look. "Nice to meet you."

"Same," she replied meekly, smiling tentatively.

There was an awkward pause then, and Pam was desperately trying to think of something to say, when Kassidy surprised her with a quick, "I'm sorry I interrupted you two, I'll just go back for the eraser." She then turned around and cautiously made her way back down the hall at a brisk pace. Pam gaped after her.

She realized after a few seconds that Zack was still there and looked over to see him looking at her very strangely; eyebrow slightly furrowed, eyes wide, mouth slightly downturned. She narrowed her eyes. "What the hell was that about?"

Zack opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with, "You hate me for having red hair but have no problem practically groping a female version of Carrot Top?"

Aghast, Zack choked on air. "_What_?"

Pam couldn't help smirking as something occurred to her, and she laughed, "Who's the pedophile _now, _huh?"

"She fell into me," Zack informed her, his eyes slightly scrunched. "I've known her my entire life, my parents are friends with hers. We're practically related."

"Well, she certainly doesn't think so," she teased, tongue in cheek.

His eyes narrowed, and he reached over to put one hand on the lockers by her head, causing her to back away as he came closer towards her. He stopped, though, leaving her wide-eyed and wary plastered against the lockers. He leaned in ever so slightly then, and told her very seriously, in a rather douche-like fashion, "First of all, I have a girlfriend. Second of all, the day I fall for a ginger, friend or otherwise, is the day Tim Burton produces a Care Bears movie."

"Hey," Pam pushed against him, her hand on his chest and teeth slightly clenched behind her frown at the disgusted look in his eye, "What's with the sass? I thought we had an agreement to—"

"You_ hit_ me," he cut her off, trying to hold something back behind his stoney face. "You can't hit me."

Pam stared at him, before a heartbeat later she had to laugh, quick and incredulous before it tapered off into a scoff. She looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You've got to be joking. What's the problem? Do you have some kind of condition or are you just a wimp?"

"Not a wimp," he calmly told her, as if the word being thrown at him didn't affect him at all, though his eyes bespoke anything but, "I just don't like violence. It's not very _friendly_." His eyebrow rose high, eyes hinting.

Pam stared at him rather blankly a moment. Then, with a smile, she said, "Sorry, Poe."

Zack winced, stepping back from her like she'd slapped him. "Do you have to make comments like that?"

Pam blinked, genuinely startled a moment, before she shrugged. "Sorry, it's just easy to get under your skin. It's kind of fun." She grinned cheekily.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been dumbstruck, but he knew it must've been a while, because he felt another pang of dumbness hit him at being dumbstruck in the first place. Staring at her proud, red-framed face, he wondered if he'd manage to maintain any brain cells in this relationship. The thought made a large dose of resentment well up inside him.

A bomb-black haired teen dressed in a green vest and shimmering ascot chose to breeze by them at that moment, coldly observing him over his thousand-dollar glasses. "Zachary," he acknowledged, not bothering to pause in his cool stride down the hall.

Zack snapped around animatedly after he'd passed, pointing his finger at Reuben's back with a loud exclamation of, "Not today, Gammeldork! Not today!" He slammed his foot down then, glaring halfheartedly at the back of his old rival's head as he continued walking.

The outburst had apparently shocked his redheaded fiend—friend, as she was still openly gawking at him when he turned back around. He couldn't very well blame her. He had just lost it a little bit, for just a second. He was just glad Reuben had showed up when he did so he didn't end up snapping at her instead. That wouldn't have been very beneficial to their new "friendship" pact.

She burst out earnestly, eyes huge, "Geez, sassy sasquatch, aren't you?"

The look he gave her for that was hopefully dry enough to leave her parched. He tried to take a breath, though, and center himself. He couldn't be on bad terms with this girl, but the hair was still bothering him, and he was starting to doubt it ever wouldn't.

Not that he hadn't seen redheads before. Hell, his own cousins had red hair, but he didn't ever have to associate with them. He didn't have redheads running after him with insults and demands and pushing him around. He had them muttering his curses in the locker rooms, sure, but not ever to his face. He was glad it had finally winded down, and he could breathe now, but it was still such a glaring issue. It would take a ridiculous amount of getting used to. After all, how did you ignore hair like that? How did you keep yourself calm when your every nightmare was staring you in the face?

A spark ignited in his eyes then, and he leaned over towards her, curiosity raising his brow. "Have you ever considered hair dye? Wigs, perhaps?"

Pam looked very confused, the poor turtle. He opened his mouth to elaborate, bring up that if her brother could do blue, she probably could too, when a voice was suddenly shouting his name from down the hall, echoing off the hallways, "_You_!"

Zack and Pam turned their eyes to see Jaron marching purposely towards them, his brown eyes a volcano and face turning red. Zack's face burst into a grin and he went on to say, "Jaron, where've you—" only to be interrupted as his best friend stopped in front of him and waved his finger in his face.

"You," Jaron repeated heatedly, grinding out the word like the devil's name. "Wipe that grin off your face right now! We are _not_ cool, dude! Do you have any idea how long it took my dad to find me in my freaking _closet_? He nearly had a heart attack when he couldn't find me in my room after you guys left."

Zack opened his mouth to respond, but Pam interrupted him with an offended-sounding, "You locked him in a closet? Why the hell would you do that?"

Zack raised half his brow at her and started again, "I—" only to be interrupted again by Jaron, looking at Pam with wide eyes. "I know right?"

Again, Zack tried, but Pam had sprung into conversation with Jaron about the situation, so he eventually shut up and flicked his eyes to ceiling, keeping them there with his mouth flat and quirked.

"He had me tangled in a mass of sweater vests in there, how humiliating. And you wanna know what my dad did when he found me? He _laughed_. My dad, the cop, laughed at his son being tied up and locked in a closet. What kind of a parent—"

"That's insane," Pam agreed with vigor, her green eyes wide. Zack batted his eyes at her. She didn't notice, too caught up in her little rant, "But what's even more insane is what kind of psycho would lock his so-called best friend in a closet." She turned her eyes to give him a scathing look. He gave her a friendly grin, mocking her.

"Oh, it's just fine," Jaron said emotionlessly, and Zack snapped his eyes to his friend's dead set eyes. "I mean, I probably deserved it. After all, I invited a hot girl to a party. I deserved the condemnation. I really shouldn't have pushed things so far. I should apologize."

Zack felt a pang and opened his mouth to correct him on why he'd done it, but was, once again, interrupted.

"You cannot be serious—" Pam started, offended that he would even joke, but then realized exactly what he'd said and blanked. "Wait, what?" Jaron snapped his eyes hers, just as shocked as her that he'd let that slip. Zack rolled his eyes and caught a flash of black hair across the hall amongst a herd of teenagers.

Zack had finally lost his patience with this scenario, so he spread his arms out to part the two and walked through them with a teasing, "Oh, you two are too adorable. I'd tell you to get a room, but," he gave Jaron a meaningful look, smirking, "access _denied_." Friends with the girl or not, the possibility of them hitting it off and getting into a long-lasting relationship was most assuredly a "Oh hell no" concept. High school? He could deal with her for that time. Anything beyond that? Oh hell no.

Not even bothering with the almost-fight anymore, he walked away from them, in the direction of where he'd spotted his girlfriend.

Pam and Jaron watched, affronted, as he moved through the crowd and plucked Sophie out, quickly starting a pointless chat with her only to pull her into a sudden kiss, surprising her. Pam had to twist her face at the scene, watching Mr. Ass-Hat locking lips with Ms. Disney-Princess. Pam had run into her a few times since she'd transferred, and the girl was kind and sincere to the point it almost hurt to look at her. She'd handed her a books-worth of charity papers and invited her to a concert after only five minutes of knowing her. Pam had instantly loved her. When she'd heard she was dating Zachary Shortman, though, she'd started making a point of keeping her distance.

She wasn't even directly involved, but the idea offended her. There was clearly something wrong with her if she could be attracted to someone that egomaniacal. Perhaps if they'd been closer, better friends, she might have talked her into breaking up with him, since she clearly deserved better. But as it were, she just ran the fudge away. Sophie had taken the hint. She was even kind and understanding about being ditched, which only made it all the more maddening to Pam, someone who was quite experienced in the way of bad boyfriends. She deserved Prince Charming, not Prince Ass-Hat.

But now she was friends with the hat o' ass too, astonishingly. He just managed to drag everyone into his circle, didn't he? Like an airborn disease, he was impossible not to catch sooner or later, and the forced, insincerity of it all was annoying. But she'd made the deal in the interest of not making any enemies so soon in her whole "new school adventure," and he'd proven to at least be a _somewhat_ decent guy when he wasn't being a pompous idiot. So ass hat or not, she'd give him a chance.

Looking over at Jaron now, where he stood beside her with the fading wrinkles of annoyance on his face, she had to ask, bringing a surprised look to his face, "How did _that_ happen anyway?" She gestured to the two.

Without Zack around, Jaron looked less sure of himself beside her. But he shrugged, averted his gaze, and answered all the same, "Just like anything else, I guess. A couple years back, Sophie was a new student here and Zack got assigned to show her around. They hit it off."

Pam's jaw dropped. "They've been together _two years_?"

Jaron gave her a crooked smile. "I still can't believe it sometimes either."

Pam blinked, baffled, and wondered if Sophie knew about his talent for poetry. It was the only explanation Pam could come up with for why she'd still be with him. Lost, she asked a bit desperately, "What does she see in him?"

Jaron looked surprised at the question, and seemed at a loss for what to say. He turned his eyes back to watch for when his best friend would inevitably come back instead, and Pam followed suit, just turning her eyes in time to see Sophie push Zack away with a laugh and go walking down the hall, leaving him staring after her with his shoulders hunched. It was the exact same thing that happened yesterday, and she almost felt a pang of sympathy for him, however small. The moment only lasted a second more, though, before he was swiveling on his foot and walking back towards them with a big grin, as if nothing had happened, and Pam wondered if she'd imagined the entire thing.

"Okay, bros," Zack said as he threw his arms around both their shoulders and started walking them down the hall, as if he hadn't just been getting chewed out a few minutes prior, "class is going to be starting soon so we're going to have to hurry through pleasantries. Any unfinished business?"

"I don't know, dude," Jaron said, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Since when is Pam a bro?"

Zack gave her a smug look but she was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to get his arm off of her. This guy just couldn't take a hint—he downright _demanded_ friendliness out of people, and she felt a rush of indignation race through her. She caught the question a second after it had been voiced, though, and shot her eyes over to Jaron in disbelief. The fight from before couldn't have seriously ended before it had even begun. She knew guys were resilient in their friendships but to let go being locked in a _closet_? It made her wonder just how often things like that happened between the two, but just as quickly as the question popped into her head, she dismissed it. She didn't want to know. Zack spoke then, much too pleased with himself, "Since we became BFFs, of course."

"You two hit it off?" Jaron continued, clearly surprised. She wasn't sure if it was pleasant or not.

She caught his smug look this time, devilish and migraine-inducing. "Let's just say we've decided to put aside our differences in the interest of mental stability."

"That's one way to put it," Pam said, a tad flat. Zack just continued to smirk. Arrogant bastard had gotten what he'd wanted; peace between them, supposedly. She had to remind herself of the poem safely tucked away in her pocket to keep from pushing him away again. He may like to twist things and make it seem like he'd won, but in the end, she'd been the one to come out on top, quite literally holding his greatest and possibly only weakness in her grip. He wasn't going to win over her, no matter how deluded he proved to be.

Jaron seemed to approve of the treaty, but Zack just continued to hold her eyes, yet another battle for power silent in the air. He just wouldn't give it up. Was all this some kind of game to him? Pam glared harder, and he promptly beamed, the bright blue of his eyes and golden hair all the more prominent in his zeal.

Zeal. Zealous. Zealous Zack, the Ass-Hat Zackass of Lake Drive. She cracked a smile at that, hiding it from view.

This was undoubtedly the beginning of a very weird friendship.

* * *

><p>Arnold shifted anxiously as he sat at the island, staring at the phone with a hard look. With sheer force of will, he fancied he could make it ring. Helga and him had always joked that there was some kind of cosmic force linking them together. Even after they got married, they still slammed into each other from time to time, when they were in a fight especially, and Arnold swore he could hear when she was screaming for him no matter how far away she was.<p>

This little joke between them had resulted in a rather interesting day when they were twenty-three. Helga had been pregnant with Zack at the time and hanging out with Phoebe at the grocery to quell a particularly odd craving for peach oatmeal and mustard when her water broke and she'd instantly started screaming bloody murder. Arnold had been having a job interview across town when it happened and had fallen out of his chair from the sudden ringing that had exploded in his ears.

He'd been deaf for a good part of the rest of the day. Which was apparently a blessing in disguise, because according to Gerald and Phoebe, they could hear the screaming from _outside_ the hospital. It hadn't been until the sweaty, miserable fog in the room had cleared that his hearing came back, just in time to hear the first cry. From the doctor, who was so relieved to have it finally over with that he burst into tears. Even in her weak state, Helga had managed to conger just enough strength to chuck a bobby pin at him and get it lodged up his nostril. Arnold hadn't been sure why he was surprised but when the little blue blanket finally came around, he found he couldn't have cared less about anything except the big blue eyes and scraggly blond hair in his wife's arms.

Ever since then, the jokes never stopped rolling. Secretly, Arnold sort of believed it, though. He'd never really thought about things like soul mates before, but he couldn't deny there was something about Helga and him that felt inevitable. He knew it was silly, but a part of him sincerely believed that maybe he could send some kind of mental wave to Helga from miles away to make her call him.

After several minutes of staring, though, Arnold sighed and stood up from his seat. He was being ridiculous. Gerald had told him a thousand times, he was too much of a romantic. He'd just get started on dinner and call her himself, like a normal person.

He walked over to the fridge, and just as his fingertips brushed the handle his cell phone started buzzing in the other room.

Arnold didn't even feel himself move. The next thing he knew he was in the living room staring down at Phil opening up his cell phone and pushing it hard against his ear. "Mommy?" Phil asked with bright eyes.

Arnold chuckled a bit desperately and grabbed Phil up, phone and all, off the floor to sit him in his lap as he took a seat on the couch. Phil flailed a little but Arnold grabbed his arms and kissed him quick on the cheek, distracting him just long enough to slip the phone out of his hand unscathed. Arnold chuckled at his dumbstruck face as he spoke into the phone, "Hey, Helga? I almost thought you wouldn't call."

Phil pouted up at him, wiping off his cheek as he watched the football headed man smile contently into the phone for a few seconds before speaking again, "Oh, Zack's fine. He's been up in his room." Phil broke into a whine in his lap, throwing himself up at his father's face to grab for the phone. "I wanna talk to Mommy! Lemme talk!"

Arnold deflected his tiny arms as gently as he could, holding his head back with amused eyes. "Hold on, Sweetie, _I think_ Phil wants to talk to you."

Phil grinned as Arnold handed the phone over to him, giggling into the phone, "Hi, Mommy…"

Arnold laid back against the couch with a warm smile as he watched his youngest giggle into the phone. "Yeah, I did…" The brunette paused, before he burst out, "Because I miss you! When are you coming home?"

Arnold burst into deep laughter and pulled Phil in closer so he could listen in. Phil just wrapped one arm around his father's neck, apparently willing to share as he held the phone up to his ear too.

Helga's voice came faintly into his ear, "Soon, my love. I just have to wrap a few things up before I go. Can you put Daddy back on the phone?"

Arnold smiled and replied, holding Phil closer, "I'm right here, Helga."

"Wha—Do you have me on speaker?"

Arnold chuckled. "No, Phil and I are pretty much ear-to-ear right now to hear you."

"Ah, criminy. How come all the cute stuff happens when I'm out of the house?"

Phil laughed, "Criminy!"

Arnold gave a long-suffering sigh, glaring jokingly at the phone. "Look what you've done, Helga."

"Ah, you know me, Football Head. Corrupting youth is my specialty. But—Hey! Put that down! No, no, put that down right now—_No no don't drop it you idiot_! I—" she sighed, the sound crackling and harsh, "Look, you guys, I'm gonna have to go in a minute here. Can I hear Zack's all right? That's really why I called."

Arnold took the phone from Phil's hand and held it up to his ear so he could speak properly, "Yeah, he's in his room—"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time, Honey. But I want to talk to him, that's why I called cellular. Zack's phone's still in the safe. I just…" she sighed, "I need to hear that he's okay."

Arnold smiled, warmed by her protectiveness. "Say no more." He picked Phil up off of his lap and sat him back down on the floor with his toys, and began speaking again as he walked out of the room, "Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. He's been safe in his room ever since we got back from school." He deliberately left out the part where he got lost hours before.

Helga made a soft noise that he couldn't quite identify the emotion behind. "Well, that's good to hear, but…"

"I know, you want to talk to him." Arnold nodded, understanding completely. A lot had happened in the last few days, and it had only amplified their already high paranoia. He still remembered when she was pregnant and spent nearly all of her time surfing the internet about child care and parenting techniques. What she'd found the most of, though, were warnings. Warnings about predators and diseases and all sorts of things that could go wrong. Cases where parents would just randomly walk in to check on their baby in the night and find them not breathing or already dead. Helga had always been a naturally paranoid person at heart, always fearing the worst and caring too much for her own sanity, but some of the things she cried over at the breakfast table had terrified him too, though at the time he'd tried to hide it and be strong for her.

Those fears had never really left them, not just for their kids but for themselves as well. Arnold had a serious psychological fear that they'd both die one day and end up orphaning their kids, and Helga all but smothered them with the fear that they'd ever feel neglected. Both Josh and Phil responded very well to this more often than not, but the older Zack got the harder it was to get him to accept it. He tended to just skirt away from affection lately, which was why getting a hug from him yesterday had been so incredible. But that was just because he had been in a good mood, he assessed. With how quiet he'd been on the drive home today, Arnold doubted he would be as receptive.

So Arnold didn't question when Helga wanted to talk to him as he walked up the stairs, he wasn't surprised to find Zack's door locked, and he even _expected_ to hear the hard rock music blasting out of his speakers.

What did surprise him, though, was when the music shut off immediately at the first rap of his fist and his son threw the door open, beaming up at him like he was the moon and stars. "Dad-o, what a surprise…" the young boy cocked half of his eyebrow at his father's dumbfounded face, and smirked slightly, "Hey, what's wrong with you?"

For a while, Arnold didn't respond. Just stared down at his son standing there in his shirt and observed how it hung over him like a black and blue plaid trench coat over a black shirt and blue jeans. He had the arms rolled up to his elbows and the collars popped up, his hair all swept to the side to showcase his eyebrow with a few sunshiny pieces hanging shaggily over his forehead. Arnold could do nothing but blink, struck a bit speechless. "Uh…" he smiled a little crookedly, unsure of how to react, "new look, Zack?"

Zack blinked and looked down at himself, before tilting his head up to his father and grinning a little sheepishly. "Not bad, right? I know you don't like the shirt, but it's kinda growing on me."

Arnold laughed, and reached down to tug at the end of it. "Looks more like you need to grow into it. It looks good on you, though. I always said blue suited you."

Zack grinned, sliding a finger across his eyebrow. "Matches my eyes." Those blue eyes zeroed in on the phone in his hand then and he pointed to it. "Someone on there?"

Arnold's eyelids flew open from their half-mast state and an, "Oh," burst from his lips as he recalled his reason for coming up here. Chuckling in a sudden fit of nerves, he quickly handed the phone to Zack. "Your mother wants to talk to you."

Zack brought the phone to his ear and asked, "Mom?" only to have his eardrum assaulted a second later as her voice came screeching, "No, no, you morons, can you _not follow a single order_? What, does the pregnant chick have to do all the work around here? Honestly!" Zack held the cell far away from himself, still cringing.

Arnold grabbed the phone back quick and put it to his face, running a hand through his hair as he did so, "Um, Helga?"

"_What_?" the phone practically shook in his hand.

Arnold growled suddenly and ground out dryly, "_Helga_…" He didn't have to speak anymore than that to get his point across.

There was a pause on the other side of the phone, before she said a bit meekly, an apologetic edge to her words, "Right. Deep breaths, deep breaths. I remember." Her breathing came harshly over the phone, before she finally said, normally, "Is Zack still there?"

Arnold smiled, satisfied. "Yes, he's right here." He raised an eyebrow down at Zack with a bit of a smirk as he added, "And looking quite handsome this evening." Zack grinned, standing taller.

Helga murmured over the other end, before she said, "Just put him on, Arnold."

Zack took the phone from his father and put it cautiously back up to his ear for a second time, a bit amused. "Uh, Mom? You're not going to try to make me go deaf again are you?"

Arnold watched as Zack paused to listen with a smile, before he grinned and nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm fine, Mom. You really don't have to worry about me so much…" He paused as his mother responded, his face even before he smiled again. "All right. I love you too." And instantly he had to hold the phone far away from his head again as his mother burst into loud, wailing tears.

Arnold grabbed the phone out of Zack's hand quick, distressed. "Helga? Are you okay?"

She kept crying for a couple minutes, before she somehow managed to force out through sobs, "Oh, God, Arnold, I sound like Olga. I can't even—hey, hey, hey! Don't you snicker at me! You son of a b—" There was a sudden crash over the other end before the line clicked off.

Arnold's brow stressed. "Helga?" He listened to the dead beep for a short while, before he scowled. "Damn it," he cursed as he slammed the phone shut in his fist.

Zack laughed and grabbed his dad's hand with the phone, and jokingly yelled at it, "Yeah, damn, baby, come back! Don't you know your wife needs you?"

Arnold's eyes went impossibly large and he grabbed his hand back. "Never say that word again!"

Zack blinked up at him. "What? You don't want me calling you a girl?" Zack frowned, kicking his foot as he realized what he'd said was a little hurtful. "I was only joking."

"No, no, not that," Arnold shook his head, "I'm used to those. I meant never say…" his mouth twitched, "say… the 'd' word."

"Don't?" Zack raised half of his brow. "This isn't like that 'never say never' crap is it? I need to be able to tell Josh to stay away from my stuff. Be reasonable."

Arnold stared at him, almost sure now he was doing this on purpose just to spite him. His tone went a bit dry, "_No_. The _other_ word."

Zack stared at him blankly a second, before his eyes lit up with realization and he laughed. "_Ohhhh_! Okay, I get it. You don't want me to say damn."

Arnold grabbed Zack's arm and began calmly dragging him down the hall. Zack grabbed his doorknob in surprise at the action, but all he managed to do was swing his door shut, which was just the force needed to knock his hand off and put him at the mercy of his father. Zack wasn't new to this, he'd gotten in trouble plenty of times before, but there was no way he was going down without a fight. "Dad…" he said uncomfortably, before he coughed and laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood, "you can't seriously punish me for saying a word that _you_ just said. Besides, I'm still grounded from phone, computer, and… whatever else there is." He rolled his eyes. He'd never had a use for communication devices before. He still thought it was funny that his dad grounded him from a bunch of stuff he didn't use. "There's nothing left."

Arnold stopped, and turned his head around just enough to give his son the stink-eye. "I'll have to discuss a punishment with your mother then. In the meantime, I'll just never curse again. Or your mother. You're way too young to use that kind of language and we shouldn't be teaching it to you."

Zack blinked, before a grin split his face. "So I can when I'm older then?"

Arnold cut his eyes. "Thirty-five. _If_ you still want to."

Zack burst into a quick laugh. "Criminy, I really annoyed you, didn't I?"

Arnold began pulling him down the hall once more, before they reached the stairs and he pulled Zack to stand beside him so he could place a hand on his back. He couldn't help smiling a bit tiredly at him as they started down the steps. "Maybe a little. You do seem to have a knack for it." He smirked slightly, rueful.

Zack skipped the last two stairs to the bottom and swiveled on his foot to face his dad, rocking on his heels. "But you can't deny that you love me anyway."

Arnold stopped at the bottom and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Well of course, Zack. There should never be any doubt of that."

Zack quirked his mouth, his eyes a bit scrutinizing. "Then why are you still trying to drag me to my doom?"

Arnold blinked at him, his face blank, before he started walking down the hall towards the kitchen. His tone was perfectly casual, "Well if you don't want to help me make lasagna and blueberry muffins, you can feel free to—"

The tail of his plaid shirt flew up from the sudden gust of air from Zack racing past him. "I get to lick _everything_!"

Arnold laughed, happy that Zack was in such a good mood again. He'd always had to catch the kids when they were in a generous mood if he wanted to bond with them, they were so independent and caught up in their own little lives. If he ever tried when they were upset over something or busy, all it did was drive them away. He had to catch them when their defenses were down. All the years of dating and marriage to Helga had shown him that, and it had proven to be a very good system with Zack.

But in the last few months or so, not so much. He seemed rarely in the mood for any sort of father/son bonding, or anything that involved any serious activity other than sitting around or sleeping in his room.

Which was why that night as he watched his son stir, pour, and throw his head into the bowl, he found himself very happy for this new change, and wondering how long it would last. His son seemed happy, more at ease than he'd been in he-didn't-know-how-long. Josh came wandering in at one point, beginning a blueberry battle with Zack that eventually had the seven-year-old pinning his older brother to the floor and laughing in his face.

Phil came in to find them in this state and began yelling that "those had better be blueberries and not what I think they are." He'd had a couple thrown at him for that, and Arnold had to try to calm them down. He'd ended up plastered on the floor on his back by Zack and Josh instead, with Phil yelling at them to get off and getting a few more blueberries chucked at his head for it.

Arnold couldn't remember the last time the house had been so bright. Or chaotic, really—but it felt like home.

Maybe things were looking up after all.

* * *

><p>Zack shut the door to the bathroom with a soft click, before turning around to face his reflection in the mirror. He grinned at himself, taking one long step forward to make it to the sink. With attentive eyes, he surveyed the damage before sweeping his hair back and running his fingers through it a few seconds to hopefully tame it a bit of is unruliness. High school was everything people complained that it was—nothing less than jungle full of savages, and he always found himself at least a little disheveled when he got home, if not from having to weave through thick shrouds of people then from PE alone. But nothing that wasn't easily corrected.<p>

He searched the drawers for a comb, thinking on his previous success with the ginger. He smirked at his thoughts. She'd gotten the poem she wanted, which originally would have been horror story material in his book, but as far as anyone but them would ever know it'd be by her brother, and by the sounds of it, her brother was a pretty crafty guy. A crafty guy who would now know for the rest of his life that the entire reason he'd gotten into his big fancy college was because of his next-door neighbor. He could use some more crafty people as his friends. And not only did he have her brother, he had Pam too, of course. Two new allies and a free show to see how the world reacted to his apparent genius. Even when the foundation of his entire world was shaking, he'd managed to turn it over into the good. The biggest crisis in his life since puberty was now over and through, and he couldn't be more proud.

Pam wasn't an easy person for him to get along with, but they'd manage well enough. He'd taken on the tedious task of showing her around the school, and had taken the liberty of dragging her along to lunch with him to ensure their arrangement. The horror at her hair color had begun to steadily fade, and any arduous conversations they'd attempted had tapered off into jokes. It seemed like a safe point for both of them. At the very least, if they couldn't have a meaningful, real friendship, they could gain enjoyment out of each other's cleverness. Anything was better than fighting. It had all worked out rather well.

His search for a comb was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Occupato!" he yelled, hand still rattling around in the drawer, before he finally found what he was looking for and held it up in triumph.

"Zack?" his mom's voice carried through the door, causing him to still. "This is your mother, I wanna talk to you."

Zack blinked at that, unnerved by anything important enough that his mom would try to pull him out of the bathroom. Clearing his throat, he replied, bracing himself on the sides of the counter, "I'm kind of busy right now, Mom, this isn't the greatest—"

"Don't think I couldn't hear you rustling around in there. The only thing you're busy with is admiring your reflection. Open the damn door."

He flushed, obediently taking a step back from the sink to unlock the door. Almost as soon as the telltale click sounded, his mom launched into the room, grabbing him into a sudden hug that pulled all the air from his lungs.

Astounded, Zack tried to push out of the embrace long enough to question, "Mom—"

Helga quickly grabbed him back into the hug, overwrought with emotion as her fingers raked through his hair. "Oh, my beautiful baby boy, what has happened to you?"

Zack didn't have a response to that. He choked, "Mom, what are you—"

"Your father told me everything," she said urgently, pulling away just long enough to look deeply into his eyes. Her expression was pained, blue eyes stinging with tears. Zack was petrified. "Over lunch time, he gave me a call. He told me all about your episode this morning." Her long fingers pulled through his hair once more, no doubt leaving it a blond wreck as she pulled him back to her chest, causing him to all but fall to his knees. "Oh, Zack, you've always been such a gentle, caring soul. Don't ever lose that, please. It's one of your only redeeming qualities." His jaw dropped a little at that, and if he could feel anything but shock at the moment, he would have resented that.

She pulled him back, her hands on either side of his face as she pleaded, "Don't be like me, Zack. Please don't be like I was. You're already too much like me with all the pranks and sarcasm, don't finish yourself off by becoming a bully on top of it."

"_What_?" He pushed himself away with one firm shove, the shock becoming too great for him as he slumped against the back of the sink, trying to get his thoughts back in order.

Helga stood with her back against the wall, still with that pale, pained expression on her face as she watched him. He thought he may just be sick with how disoriented he felt all of a sudden. He didn't even know where to _start_ with all that his mom had just shoved in his face. Putting a palm over one side of his face, he closed his eyes and took a calming breath, before he let it drop and asked, simply, "Mom, please tell me there's a method to your madness. I've had kind of a rough day."

Helga tried to smile at him, but it was a poor effort. "Arnold told me you were in some poor girl's face this morning. That he's never seen you so angry. He said you were seething." She closed her eyes against the image she'd just painted, looking physically ill. "Zack, I literally cannot think of a single moment in my life where I've seen you _seethe_. I thought my bad temper had passed over you." She snapped forward suddenly and grabbed him by his collar, smashing their noses together as she all but begged him, "Please don't tell me it's just been dormant all this time! Or, worse," she choked, "you've been hiding it."

Zack blinked a couple times rapidly, before he smiled hesitantly and brought two careful hands up to put on his mother's arms. The only thing he could find in all that to be glad about was that it sounded like his dad had spared the details of _why_ said girl had paid a visit in the first place. "Um, Mom, this morning was a special case—"

"Well I should hope so," she nearly whimpered, half-hysterical. "I don't want to ever hear you've been storming through the halls cutting people down."

Just the idea of that made Zack's face turn green. "Mom, how could you ever think I'd do that?"

"Because you're my son," she said bluntly, her face grave as she let go of him and took a seat on the edge of the bathtub. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail, her bangs disheveled and pushed to one side of her face as she knuckled one of her eyes. She looked up at him sheepishly, leaning back a little with her hands gripped tight to the edge of the tub. "This may shock you to know, but I haven't always been such a sweet, kind motherly figure."

Zack pokerfaced it. "You don't say?"

Helga shook her head loosely, as if ashamed of having shared this information. "No, I was a very mean, very sad kid. All the way through elementary and well into high school, people were afraid of me."

Zack smiled, trying desperately to lighten the mood. "People are still afraid of you, Mom."

Helga smirked at him for that, darkly amused. "Not nearly as much as before, Zack. Trust me."

Zack felt a small shiver at the way she'd said that, in such a low, almost warning tone. He'd heard it before from her, many times when he'd done something to anger her, but never to this degree, and not underlining words like _that_. "Mom…" he began, uncertain, "you… were a bully?"

Helga kept her slight smirk, and flexed her fingers a little. "Why so surprised? Your dad's always making jokes about how terrifying I was as a kid."

"I always just figured you were a badass."

Her nervousness got the best of her and she barked out a laugh, startling Zack enough that he took a fast seat on the toilet. Helga looked at him with tired amusement, her fingers tapping on the tub, warily. "Well, I was that too. But it kind of came with the territory." She blinked a second, before shrugging, helplessly.

The way Zack was staring at her was unnerving her, with blue eyes so wide and ears so open. She'd never thought she'd be sharing this information with him, never thought she'd have a reason to, but this was a heart-to-heart they had to have if she wanted him to understand the gravity of her upset. It was rare for him to _want_ to understand, though, rare that he'd be so anxious to listen to what she had to say. His question startled her out of her thoughts, with eyes still so wide, "So you beat up little kids in your spare time for fun?"

Helga blinked widely, her jaw falling for a split-second before she shook her head. "Ohhh no, very seldom. I may have been a bully, but I wasn't a lowlife. I picked on kids my own age. Or… actually, sometimes a little older than me." She smirked slightly, remembering all the times she'd smacked Harold around or had him pinned up to a wall. She looked at him again then, seriously. "And it wasn't for fun. It was a defense mechanism. If I could make people afraid of me, then they would never know how much I was actually afraid of them." She brought her hands together, twisting them around in her lap. "It was rare I'd actually hit anyone, though. I just threatened a lot. Your dad always said that my bark was worse than my bite."

Zack looked down at that.

Helga's look softened, her head bowing slightly in an attempt to catch his eyes. "The point I'm trying to make with telling you all this, Zack, is that I wasn't a nice kid and I paid for it. I had a lot of problems and was too stubborn to ever go to anyone for help. I don't ever want you to end up like I was, so afraid of the world that you end up trying to destroy it. If there's anything you ever want to talk about…"

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm always fine," he assured her quietly, keeping his eyes on the ground. He stretched his legs out before himself, the tips of his sneakers meeting the wall. He raised his voice a little, keeping his voice light, "We have new neighbors. The girl and I got into a fight yesterday and it carried over into this morning, but we've made amends. I," he licked his lips, "wouldn't ever have yelled at someone without a good reason."

Helga's eyebrows shot up. "You got into a fight with a girl?"

His eyes flew to hers, and with a rushed breath he hastened to correct her, "Not like an actual fight or anything, we were just arguing. I didn't—"

Helga gave a relieved laugh, reaching over to give him a pat on the arm. "No, Zack, I know you'd never hit a girl. But I mean…" her smile was incredulous, "that's it? That's why you were so angry? You got into a debate with some girl?"

Zack blinked, before he smirked ever so faintly, only just managing to meet her eyes. "Sure, a debate. Let's call it that."

Helga smirked back playfully, unable and unwilling to mask her happiness. "Oh? And if not that, what would you call it?"

Zack paused at this, his arms crossed over his chest shifting as he readjusted his hands on his arms. After a moment, he smirked again, a bit more sincerely, and said ruefully, "Karma."

"Ohhh," Helga replied jokingly, her smirk broadening as she braced herself against the tub again, leaning back, "of course. Always have that following you, don't you? It's only natural."

Zack scoffed, sending a funny look over to her. "Maybe for you."

Helga raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the small outburst. Zack opened his mouth like he wanted to elaborate, but thought better of it at the last second and shut his mouth, considering. He was so thoughtful, Helga thought warmly, feeling a hint of pride. She immediately wanted to hug him, but she held back, instead clearing her throat to properly ask, "Maybe for me?"

Zack turned his eyes to smile at her, saying simply, "Karma doesn't really apply to me normally." He seemed at a loss for what else to add, and Helga squinted her eyes ever so slightly, scrutinizing him with a carefully blank face. He was a brave one, bold as his father, and he held her gaze for as long as he could before he had to look away. They always looked away. "It was a new and, frankly, harrowing experience."

"I see," she replied just as simply, working her jaw a bit. "And this… girl you were debating with… She was your karma?" She raised an eyebrow.

Zack's eyes met hers for a brief second before flicking away again, nonchalantly. "I have a sort of aversion to redheads. She was one, and I had the pleasure of her practically stalking me for the past forty-eight hours." He sighed and reached a hand up to run through the hair he had been so concerned with combing a few minutes ago, further turning the unruly locks into a veritable bird's nest, and Helga's eyes widened as she realized he was telling the truth. "She was mad or something, kept wanting to talk to me and wouldn't stop insulting and trying to _injure_ me all day. Turns out she was angry because when we first met, I'd been _rude_," he used air quotes, sarcastically, "and judged her too quickly for having red hair."

"I see…" Helga said once more, her eyes wide and with a hint of surprise. She bit the inside of her cheek, working her jaw a bit more with eyes wandering off in thought before she suddenly cleared her throat, bringing her attention back to the topic at hand. "I didn't know you didn't like redheads."

Zack shrugged, apparently unwilling to elaborate on this fact. Instead he said, "We made amends today. So it doesn't really matter anymore, but she was definitely some form of karma." He observed his nails for lack of anything else to do at the moment, and commented as a sort of afterthought, "It was probably long over-due." Quieter then, he said almost solemnly, "Seven years was a good run."

"Oh, Darling," the sheer amusement in her voice brought his eyes immediately to hers, her face tight from the effort not to laugh, "you've never been immune to karma."

Zack raised half of his eyebrow at her. "I—"

She unleashed a chuckle at that moment from the utter bafflement on his face, and smilingly shook her head as she stood from the tub. She took the short step over to stand in front of him where he still sat upon his throne, and lovingly took the comb from his hand to start running it gently through his sunshiny hair, her free hand placed lightly on the side of his face as she gazed down at him. "You're a good boy, much better than you like to pretend," she told him softly, her smile growing at his continued lack of comprehension. "You're kind and gentle and always so understanding, but you also love to prank and lie and cheat and manipulate and defy every rule you're told and not _ever_ listen and go into your dad and I's bedroom when we specifically tell you not to and sneak out in the middle of the night where there are bears and muggers and hobos and God knows what else—" In her increasing frenzy of fret her combing had gotten a little less gentle and more jerky and fast, her hand all but smushing the side of his face now.

"Mom," Zack managed to grunt out pitifully, his eyes synched tightly shut.

Helga immediately stopped. She blinked out of it, before she sighed, her hand running the comb extra gently through his hair this time and lightening her hold on his face to a mere presence. "Right, sorry. But the point I'm trying to make is that, there has never _not_ been a time when you've been punished for those things." She smirked slightly, setting the comb down on the counter to run her fingers affectionately through his now much neater mass of cowlicks. "You've been thrown into that lake out back so many times I'm surprised _you_ haven't shrunk." She sighed, lovingly sweeping his hair back from his face and tilting his head up to hers, smiling. "Short man."

He instantly deflated in her hands, as he always did, and murmured, "I really wish you'd stop calling me that."

Helga kept her smile, tactfully ignoring his silly confession as she bent down to kiss his forehead. "You're too idealistic, Zack. That's where you're going wrong."

Zack blinked at that, with eyes so delightfully blue she had to grin as he asked, "What do you mean?"

Helga finally let go of him, taking a step back so she could lean against the wall, smirking with a sort of fondness to her eyes as she looked upon his befuddled face. He looked and acted so much like her that sometimes she forgot just how much he could look like his dad when he wanted to. But there was nothing Arnold-like about being surprised at being wrong about anything. Or… now that she thought about it, that was a lot like him sometimes. She held back a snort. She quirked her mouth pitiably at her son instead, and shook her head. "Oh, Zack, Zack, Zack. You have a bad habit of looking on the bright side."

Zack looked at her dully, blinked twice, and said quite plainly, "That's not a bad habit."

She smirked. His dad, indeed. "No, it's not. You're right. On the contrary, it's a very _good_ habit. _But_," she raised her eyebrows high, stretching out the word to show she was about to make a point, "_only_ in moderation—if your head gets too light, it will float up through the clouds and you'll never get it back." She knocked on the wall behind her twice, the nearest wood before she crossed her arms across her chest. "You'll completely lose sight of planet Earth."

Zack tilted his head at her, his brow creased in what looked like a very disturbing thought. After a moment, he shook his head and his face cleared to neutral mode, his eyes half-lidded and devoid of reaction. "What are you trying to say?"

"You're living on Jupiter." She chuckled a bit, lowly. "Every time karma comes your way, you twist it around into something that _seems_ good, so you don't recognize it as the well-deserved punishment you got." At his look of confusion, she said, "In other words, you focus so much on the good that you're completely blind to the bad."

Zack blinked, once again looking disturbed and befuddled, but in the most precious way, Helga thought. So refreshingly Arnold-like. "How…" he asked finally, blinking his eyes hard before looking up at her imploringly, "how do you know that for sure?"

She sighed, "Because your father always used to do it when we were kids. Hell, he still does it. Drives me up the wall." She smirked toothily at him, a rueful note entering her warm eyes. "I guess you're a lot more like the old football head than we thought."

Zack was just opening his mouth to reply when an annoyingly familiar voice started singing from the doorway, and they both looked over to see Phil marching past the door with his head held high and a careless smile on his face, "You're always looking on the bright side of life…" His smile turned into a smirk just before he disappeared from sight, his scratchy little voice still going, "The blind side of life…" before his bedroom door was heard slamming shut.

Zack cut his eyes in the direction he'd gone. "That sneaky little deuce."

Helga chuckled, pushing her bangs out of her face as she kept her head turned to the doorway. "Well, no matter what doubts I may be having over you being my son now, at least I'll always have Phil."

Zack looked at her rather strangely for the comment, before he just sighed and put his head in his hands. He asked jokingly, rubbing his eyes, "Why couldn't you have just stopped at one? Does the word 'condom' hold no meaning to you?"

"Well, actually," Helga went on to say lightly, her gait composed as she stood up from against the wall and began towards the door, "we make sure to have at least ten on hand at all times."

The comment had the intended effect. Zack immediately gagged violently, spluttering out in pure horror, "I did _not_ need to know that!"

Helga let out one of her old, maniacal laughs, the sound having lost a bit of it's menace in her years as Mrs. Football Head, but it expressed all her amusement and all the sardonic mirth that went with it. She stood in the doorway, her hand on the wall by her exit as she smirked deviously over her shoulder. "See, my darling? Karma at it's finest." She winked.

As she began out of the room, Zack's voice stopped her, a bit rushed, "Mom, you…" She turned to look at him, and he frowned at her, looking slightly desperate but clearly trying to hide it, poorly—she could see through him like a window. He took a breath. "That story… Were you really a bully? That wasn't just a story to get me to behave?"

Helga blinked at him, before she shifted her eyes to the doorway, running her finger mindlessly over a bit of chipped paint and pushing it back into place, willing it to stick. "No, it was true." She smiled softly then, meeting his eyes. "Your father saved me from that, though. A little kindness can go a long way for someone hurting. Always keep that in mind, Zack."

* * *

><p>Phil sat in his usual chair, coffee mug in hand as he stared down into the seemingly bottomless depths of his drink, hot mists dancing in the thin air in front of his nose. Unthinking, he dropped a chocolate turtle into it and smiled dimly, rocking the mug back and forth. His smile increased as he watched the little brown waves, the smile verging on a small, cruel smirk.<p>

It was definitely one of _those_ days, one of those days so rare and precious they could be referred to as '_those_.' This was a time for gloating and victory dances on top of tables.

They'd all been home a couple hours now, and Zack had been in the dining room reading for half of that, blessedly distracted enough not to drive him crazy. Amanda Faith meanwhile was off somewhere, doing whatever annoying little girls did left to their own devices, and Ham was upstairs locked in his room, as usual. It had been another uneventful day at school, with his teachers droning on about meaningless topics he already knew from hearing Ham go on, students that liked to think they were too good for education and, of course, his so-called "best friend" breathing rather unpleasantly down the back of his neck, never failing to make him cringe and shudder and vainly wonder where the heck her inhaler was. But he didn't care about that. Today was possibly the best day of his entire life, and he finally had the privacy to enjoy this little fact.

His smile finally gave way to a smirk, delighted and wondering when the right time would be to drop his bomb.

"Hey, Philly!" a voice came out of freaking nowhere.

Phil screamed, on the verge of a full-on, hysterical spaz-attack when he felt his cup plucked out of his hand. He snapped his eyes up then to see his brother's beaming, joyous face, holding his mug for safe keeping while his chest convulsed up and down. Phil immediately snatched his mug back and glared at him. "What the heck, Zack? Stop doing that!"

Zack just laughed at his searing gaze. "Sorry, I really didn't think you would freak out that bad."

"Hi," another voice interrupted Phil's myriad of violent thoughts on sixteenth century torture devices, and he snapped his head over to see the redhead from before standing in the doorway.

Phil sat up, a bit more alert now as he looked between the two. "What's she doing here again?" She hadn't ridden home with them like he might have suspected, and he had to admit, he'd been slightly disappointed. She bugged Zack, which was reason enough to like her, female or not, but that didn't mean he wanted her in his house. He didn't appreciate trespassers.

Zack was unfazed, though. He replied normally, as if this were the most natural thing in the world, "She's our neighbor now, remember?"

"No," Phil said dully, giving him a snippy look, "within eight hours your little temper tantrum completely slipped my mind."

The girl's sudden laugh caught him off guard and he looked over to see her walking towards them, an odd look on her face as she gazed at him. "You heard all that this morning?"

Phil looked at her dryly, eyes lazily lidded halfway. "Surely you jest. Mexico heard you."

The girl continued to smile at him a moment, before she looked back up to Zack and said, "Seems I've been judging everyone wrong today. He's cute."

"What did I tell you?" Zack gushed, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "The fluffy brown hair, big green eyes, the way he likes to pretend he doesn't give a crap and bounces all around. They don't come any cuter than that. He's like a chihuahua."

"_Excuse me_?" Phil jaw dropped for a split second before he quickly composed himself, sitting back in his seat with a pout. "No, no, forget it. You want to get a rise out of me." He took a long, calming gulp of his hot cocoa, the sugary scent overwhelming him until he realized his nose had dipped in and he pulled the drink away sharply, wiping his nose off.

He heard a giggle, a short snort. Then, "A chihuahua? I'd say he's more like a poodle. Look how well-groomed he is. Not a hair out of place."

The remnants of chocolate in his mouth that he had yet to swallow proceeded to spew out his mouth and dribble down his sweater. He coughed, sending a fierce glare in the redheaded one's direction. He worked his jaw then with twitching eyes, clearly unimpressed with her comparison.

To anyone else, Phil may have just looked like any disheveled, annoyed little boy there, perfectly normal and harmless. But Zack knew better than to think his brother anything even remotely stable, and even if he was small and he didn't believe him actually capable of harming anybody, he didn't want anymore personal vendettas today. So smoothly, he looked over to Pam and raised his brow high, smiling. "Uh, Paminsula, why are you here again?"

She shot a look at him, apparently displeased with his lack of coherency when she'd been speaking to him before. Nonetheless, she stuck her hand in her pocket. "Right." Pam pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and promptly pushed it into his hand like it had radioactive sludge on it. "I talked to my brother, and he didn't want to feel like he owed you. I told him I'd already paid the price, but he…" She sighed. "He just doesn't like favors."

Zack smirked broadly at the sight of the money in his hand. Normally he might have said something snappy about how the hell her brother thought a measly twenty dollars was sufficient for getting him into a high-end, expensive freaking college, but feeling Phil's sharp, attentive eyes on them gave him pause. "Right, right." Simply, he propped his foot up on the coffee table and pulled back his sock, depositing the twenty neatly inside before rolling down his pants leg and dropping the limb to the floor like dead weight. He looked at her through lidded eyes, clapping his hands together. "Pleasure doing business with you, Berry. Feel free to show yourself out. Careful getting your fingers chopped off, that door's sneaky."

Pam's eyes twitched, as if she wanted to roll them but thought better of it, before she turned to leave. She muttered under her breath as she exited the room, just loud enough to hear but not make out, "And they said chivalry was dead..."

Zack hesitated very thoroughly, before calling out to her, "Thank you!"

He could picture the confused look on her face before he actually saw it, peeking around the doorway at him in the most baffled—almost cartoonish—of fashions. "What?"

"Thanks," he repeated, quite simply, with a genuine look to him that made Phil roll his eyes dramatically.

She blinked at him, before shifting her eyes uncertainly between him and the younger. "For… the money? Because that was all Mike—"

"No," he said, an odd look on his face that hinted at his true meaning as he finished, "for being a friend."

She stared at him, looking very much like she didn't know how to respond to that, before she finally settled on a hot puff of air through her lips and a smile back, catching onto his game quicker than he thought she would as she tipped her head to him, red tendrils of hair swinging in front of her face. "Of course, Zack, it was… completely of my own free will." Her head disappeared at that, and Zack blinked, unsure of how to feel about such a statement.

As soon as the door could be heard clicking shut from the hallway, Zack turned his eyes back to his sibling's. His eyes had lost some of their intensity, but they were still observing him closely. He reminded him of a hawk sometimes with the way he looked at him on the brink of a tirade. Only a much smaller, cuter version of one. A pigeon, perhaps, eying a worm too deep in the dirt to ever be within reach. The thought brought another smirk to Zack's face.

Phil spoke first, his voice close to a listless croak, "What was that?"

Zack's eyes flew to the doorway again, as if Pam was still there watching their every move. "Just a friendly transaction. I did her brother a good deed."

"And he paid you?" Phil asked flatly, the question sounding much more like a statement in the open. "Last I checked people didn't pay for charity. Unless the soup kitchen's doing it all wrong."

"They probably are. Nobody should ever do anything for free. You lose money that way." Zack waved off his concern with a snicker. That was the end of that discussion.

He began off in the direction of the kitchen then, his voice bright, "You want anything to eat, Phil? Dad said he bought some fruit—"

"Yeah, I know, I was there—and _no_, I don't want _fruit_. Look," Phil jumped up quickly from his chair, sitting his cup on the table by the chocolate turtle box before turning fast to stalk after his brother as he began searching through the cupboards, "it's bad enough you have to parade around with that Sophie woman morning, noon and night, but now there's this?" There was something more in his voice than the usual taunting disdain, something that bespoke something darker; disapproval, disappointment? It was definitely a dis-word, and entirely annoying—"If you're going to start another foolish tryst, at least end things with Sophie first."

"Oh-ho, hold up," Zack stopped in his searching, his blue eyes going out of focus for a split second before he looked to Phil, blinking his eyes wide, "I'm not ending things with Sophie. Ever."

"You sick—" Phil nearly raged, looking on the verge of an eight-hour lecture.

Zack huffed out a harsh breath, rolling his eyes up in a sudden burst of exasperation before he held up his hand. "I'm not starting anything with the ginger, Phil. Trust me. It's possible to be friends with a girl and not develop feelings for her. Remember Josh's relationship with Kori? It could be like that." He turned his eyes back to the cupboards, murmuring under his breath at the memory of Kori and Josh's freakishly close friendship, "Although I doubt it."

"Maybe Ham can," Phil acknowledged, with a darkness in his tone that let Zack knew he meant ill harm, "but _you_ can't. Every like-aged woman you know you've ended up dating at some point or another."

"Now, that's not true," Zack denied, turning his head to look at him directly. "What about Riley?"

Phil threw his head back and groaned. "Like anyone could ever forget that catastrophe. I doubt Poland will ever be the same again after that horror."

"Oh, come on, don't be so dramatic. We had two dates when we were eleven. It hardly counts—"

"Hardly, you say," Phil mocked in a high voice, before dropping down to state seriously, "but still accountable."

Zack rolled his eyes, observing a peach with an interest that wasn't really there. "Kiddy relationships are never a big deal, Phil. Our entire relationship can be summed up with the question, 'Did you eat all the green gummy bears again, butt-face?'"

Phil grimaced. "Be that as it may, the fact remains. You are a weak-minded, easily manipulated puppet. You're a slave to your own inferior emotions, and _dear, sweet_ Sophie shouldn't have to have a front row seat to you proving, once again, that you are an imbecile." He practically hissed as he glared intensely at Zack's relaxed features, forever blind to what was clear as day in Phil's eyes. "Do what Mom said and come the heck down to Earth, huh?"

"Phil," Zack said calmly, "I don't know what it is you're exactly asking me to do, but whatever it is, it's silly. I've been with Sophie a long time, we're comfortable, and us having new neighbors isn't going to magically change that. So just relax." He smiled lopsidedly at him, eyes lit. "If you're not careful, at the rate you're going, you'll have an ulcer by the time you're thirteen." He chuckled.

Phil kept his eyes clipped and his lips tightly pursed while Zack proceeded to subtly ignore his glare, picking through the cabinets until he found what he'd been searching for. Zack shut the cabinet door before taking a greedy bite out of the pear, his jaw slowly rolling as he stared at Phil, a timer automatically starting up in his mind.

Phil continued to stare at him. _Three, two, one_, his internal beeper went off. A zen smile spread across his thin lips as he turned towards the door. "See you at dinner, Philliam. Have fun with your little chocolate turtle friends."

His steps halted at Phil's sudden declaration, "You may think you're holding all the cards, Zack, but know this: there are a million other decks out there, with a bajillion other cards—" A voice called out from somewhere in the other room suddenly, cutting him off, "_Bajillion's not a word!_" He heard Phil growl and bark, "Silence, you little wretch!"

Zack turned his head to look at him with easy amusement, even more entertainment sparking in his eyes at the sight of the short boy's enraged, wild face and clenched teeth. Was that stuttery excuse for a comeback supposed to frighten him? "And your point, baby bro?"

Phil's eyes snapped back to his, as if reminded of his existence, before he all but snarled. He wondered what could have brought such a reaction on. His timer had gone off. After ten seconds, it usually meant he was safe from any impending rants. Phil wasn't a patient sort, and if he had something to say, he would say it. The fact he'd suddenly changed his mind, and with such fervor, was curious. He tried to think back to what he could have said to provoke this—"_I am saying,_" Phil's snarky voice crashed his train of thought, "that just because you know things doesn't mean other people don't know things as well. You're not the only one with influence, gnat."

Zack had to try really hard not to break into laughter at his wording of all that. Despite the amusement bubbling up, though, he had to raise half his eyebrow, intrigued at his meaning. What was the poodle up to now?

Boldly, much too boldly and with entirely too much sadistic satisfaction, Phil stated, "I know all about your little talent."

Zack stilled.

There was no way humanly possible to know how long it stayed silent in that room then, before Zack had finally managed to respond, trying desperately to grasp for his composure, "What... What are you talking about?"

A disgusting smirk spread across Phil's face, in too close resemblance to his own, as he was all too happy to elaborate. "Oh, you know..." he played coyly, as if he could hear Zack's lack of heartbeat, "the poetry, how great you are at it... Pretty girly thing to be good at, but who am I to judge? After all, you are the one always saying—"

The pear in Zack's hand came apart like an egg suddenly, the juice drizzling down the length of his arm, halting Phil's words for but a moment as he stared. He didn't have much time to be taken aback before he was grabbed by the shoulder and dragged forcibly out of the room. Phil made a disgusted noise purely out of instinct and tried to violently shrug off the offending appendage, but Zack only grabbed him up and flung him over his shoulder in retaliation. Phil screeched as Zack took purposeful steps up the staircase towards his room, nearly ramming into Ham on the way up. Ham swerved out the way in surprise, gaping. "Zack, what's—"

"Help me, call 911, the FBI, CIA, Sherlock, _anyone_! I think I'm about to be murdered," Phil yelped, the request coming too late before Zack had kicked the door shut to his room. Zack clicked the door locked and then walked over to sit Phil firmly on his couch, before he crouched down by the low piece of furniture and stared hard at him. The boy was busy looking around in awe of his room, shocked, the only light coming from the white Christmas lights nailed along the walls and the fading daylight from the window. There were no posters on the walls, save for the one framed painting that Phil could remember being one of Zack's art projects; a picture of a sun_rise_, specifically, as Zack had corrected many when he'd been working on it. Other than the one picture, the room was surprisingly bare, save for a few scattered objects on his desk and a pile of laundry in the corner. It almost resembled a bomb shelter rather than someone's lifelong bedroom. Yet still, it fascinated Phil. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in here—if he'd _ever_ been in here.

Zack cleared his throat, scaring the wits out of Phil as he snapped his eyes back to his brother's hard ones. And then he clammed up, squaring his shoulders and staring down his elder. He wasn't going to let Zack win so easily. It was clear his intent with all this was to invoke fear. And heavily pounding heart or not, Phil wasn't about to run from his only chance at triumph. _He_ was the one with the upper hand here, not him.

Slowly then, Zack rose, before wandering over to the pile of dirty clothes that Phil had been eying before. He picked up the first plaid shirt on the top, reaching his hand in to dig through the pocket of the garment. His hand came out empty, save for a few crumbs. There was no doubting now. The poem was gone. They both knew it.

The shirt fell deftly from his fingertips, before he leaned over to grab tight to the edge of his desk, his knuckles going nearly translucent from the steel grip.

Phil observed him, quietly taking all this into account. He didn't know what was going through his brother's mind at that moment, but he knew it wasn't good things. He'd never seen him so tense. He'd expected something akin to this at his proclamation—embarrassment, shock, even rage—but somehow complete and utter ear-shattering silence hadn't been one of them. He must have really hit the jackpot with this. Like, million-dollar jackpot, sports car and all.

He took a bit more of this time to observe his room, to take it all in. The curtains were tye-dyed, yet were far too thick to be any regular curtains. He could remember one day when he'd been six that his brother came out with a massive white mass much like it and dragged it into the backyard. A day or two later he'd dragged it back in, a rainbow of colors compared to it's former bland self. He'd often wondered what had become of that thing. Now he knew.

The bed was rather plain looking, a kind of off-black bedding with gray, blue, orange, white and green stripes running down the middle of the blanket. The pillows were gray, save for one black, and what he guessed was a spare blue pillow tossed over the side by the bed. He could see his old keyboard poking out from under the bed from when their grandma was teaching him piano. It was easily spotted for it's stark contrast to the white carpet laid out on the dark maple floorboards, just one black and white end poking out, along with a couple other cords to things he didn't know. Zack probably had a lot of useless junk thrown under there, considering all the crap he'd seen him drag home from the electronics stores and pawn shops and sometimes even the dump. He didn't even want to think about what the inside of his closet must look like.

The walls were blue, the ceilings no different than his own in their white color, save for the faintly glowing star stickers stuck all over the place. He stared up at the ceiling for the longest time, wondering at the purpose of such pointless decorations.

Any further exploration his eyes might have taken were stopped when Zack finally spoke, his back still to him, "How did you get it?"

Phil blinked, before folding his hands in his lap, an anchor to steady himself. He could do this. He had the power, finally, for once. Not Zack. He took a breath and leaned back on the couch, mockingly getting comfortable as he said breezily, "Nice room you've got here—"

Zack interrupted him, "How did you get it?" His tone left no room for games. He was serious.

That alone unnerved Phil. Again with that serious tone. Zack was never serious—he spoke carelessly, with an ease and playfulness to his words that some part of Phil would always be jealous of. He made a joke out of everything—_everything_. He wasn't serious. It was practically a law.

Phil gulped, gripping his hands harder in his lap as he focused his eyes pointedly on a star on the ceiling. "When you were knocked out last night on the floor, I wanted to get my harmonica back. So I slipped it out of your pocket. The poem came with."

Zack's back hunched over at that. Phil couldn't help a smirk at the sight, delighting in his brother's knowledge of his failure. Yeah, that was right. He'd lost. Phil won. Zack: 0. Phil: 1… Or, really, if he was being honest it was more like Zack: 85,000. Phil: 1… but that wasn't important. Phil stretched back on the sad excuse for a couch, putting his hands behind his head as he smiled predatorily at his brother's back. "You know what this means, right? Mr. Macho? Zachary Shortman, the impenetrable wall?" He grinned.

Zack hung his head for a moment, before finally, he looked over his shoulder at him, expressionless.

Phil grinned larger, and burst up from the seat suddenly to point a finger at him, victoriously declaring, "I have blackmail on _you_! I _own_ you! Consider yourself done for, short man!" He grinned tauntingly, the words feeling like butter falling off his lips.

Zack blinked at him, still with that faceless look, before he brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He didn't look very concerned for himself, and Phil frowned, his finger drooping. This strange reaction wasn't what he'd expected at all—and it was starting to seriously irritate him. He wanted him begging on his knees for him not to tell anyone. He scowled. "Well, react already, criminy! Don't you get it? You've lost!"

Zack sighed very quietly, the only thing alerting Phil he'd sighed at all being his chest heaving a moment, before he let his hand drop and turned around to face him. His height wasn't making it any better for Phil's expectations of this exchange. He liked it better when he was hunched over with his back to him. Phil didn't like the reminder of just how much Zack towered over him. He wasn't the most intimidating looking guy with his lanky limbs and slender body, but he was an imposing figure all the same as Phil had to crane his head back to look at his face. In the end, he clenched his teeth slightly and took a step back.

Zack surprised him when he dropped down and picked him up under his arms. He sat him down on the couch once more, and Phil didn't get a chance to complain at him touching him again before he met Zack's eyes and his eyes widened. Zack was smiling at him, down on one knee to maintain eye level as one end of his lips twitched slightly with the startings of an outright smirk. Phil immediately had to resist punching him.

"Phil," Zack said good-humoredly, like he'd done something adorable, and Phil had to grip the fabric of the couch to keep his rage from destroying him, "you don't know what you're talking about. It's just a silly little poem. I had to do it for school. I'm sure you've had to write poems before. It's no big deal."

What a character switch, Phil thought incredulously, green eyes huge and lips in a thin, translucent line. "Not a big deal?" he questioned slowly in transparent disbelief, face twisted. He looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Zack…" he started again after a moment, sardonic and flat-faced, "I don't think you quite understand the ramifications of your oafishness." He snapped forward and grabbed him by his plaid collar, sneering into his face, nose-to-nose, "You got an A+ on it, on a _poetry_ assignment. Poetry isn't a boy thing. It's a girl thing. You've said so yourself. You, you who struts around pompously declaring yourself a superior male specimen, and laughs at me constantly for supposedly being 'feminine,' and says you don't have a girly bone in your body, writes _poetry_." He growled, an almost feral sound, as he pushed him back in disgust and wiped his hands off on his sweater. "You're nothing but a stinking hypocrite. A hypocrite and a liar." He blinked a moment, as if realizing something, before his eyes went halfway again and he looked distastefully at his older brother sitting on the floor before him. "But then again, we all already knew that, didn't we?"

"Who?" Zack asked lightly, with a weak, toothy smile. "Who's we? You and all the voices in your head?"

Phil was stricken for but a moment, before he scowled down at him again, sitting on the edge of the couch with his feet firmly planted on the carpet. "Cheap shots won't change reality, Zack."

Zack stared at him for a long moment, and for just a split-second his face broke and he looked almost afraid, before his face turned to stone. Determination took over, and Zack sat up a moment, before standing up completely. His height gave Phil pause, and Zack seized that moment to warn, "This is bigger than both of us, Phil. You don't know what you're talking about."

Phil blinked, before snorting with a quick flick up of his eyes. "Who's being overdramatic now?"

Zack fell into the seat beside him, scaring the crap out of Phil as he jolted back away from him. Zack grabbed him quick with an arm around the shoulders, though, and pulled him back, patting him gently on the back. "Now, now, don't spaz out just yet, little man."

Phil frowned at him, eying the arm on him with a distressed eye. He squirmed, but Zack just tightened his hold, and eventually he gave up with a scowl. Snapping a look over to him, he was about to yell at him to let him go, when Zack started up talking again, annoyingly, "Phil, whether you like it or not, the poem isn't as big a deal as you're trying to make it out to be—"

"Or _you_," Phil interjected dryly.

Zack just chuckled and continued, "It's just a harmless, little school project, and there wasn't anything embarrassing in the poem. Now, I'll admit, it would be a little embarrassing to have anyone know that I'm not exactly _bad_ at writing poetry—"

"And by 'not exactly bad,' you mean really, really, girlishly good," Phil added again, a sadistic little smirk growing on his face.

Zack took a moment longer than before to speak again, as if waiting to see if he was going to say anything more, "It… It wouldn't be the end of the world for me." Zack looked over at him with half his eyebrow extended up, a smile whispering at the edge of his mouth. "And you seem to forget—I have loads of blackmail on _you, _baby bro." He poked him playfully in the stomach, as if he were just teasing rather than threatening him.

Phil slapped his hand and, with a violent jerk, got out of his firm grip. He scooted farther away on the couch, to the point if he went any farther he'd fall off, and looked distrustfully at Zack. "Don't go there…"

Zack just smirked, perfectly at ease with his arm still draped across the back of the couch. Casually, he said, "The bed wetting…"

Phil sucked in a sharp breath, and in a thoughtless move, jolted a little until he fell off of the couch with a painful, "Oof!" In the end, it wasn't that far a drop, but it was unexpected, and Phil shot furious daggers at Zack.

Zack just smiled, his teeth parting just slightly to expose some teeth. "Hey, come on with that look. I helped hide the evidence, didn't I? I'm a good big brother." He smirked again, eyes sparkling unforgivingly, and Phil winced at his next words, "No, that wasn't so bad. Not compared to your little obsession with Casablanca…"

Phil screamed a little behind closed lips, before he put his hands up on his ears and shut his eyes tight. "Shut up, shut up! It's not an obsession!"

Zack snickered, not bothering to raise his voice, knowing perfectly well he could still hear him, "How many times have you watched that little DVD you've got? Fifty times? Sixty? More even?" His grin increased at Phil's groan, and he folded his hands in his lap, crossing his leg to get more comfortable. "Oh, and we can't forget when you tore out all the pages in Grandpa Miles' journal—"

"That's enough!" Phil burst, flying up off of the floor to his feet. His chest heaved with his violent breaths, and with wild eyes he pointed his finger at Zack and took two stomping steps over to him so his finger was directly in front of his face. Zack looked cross-eyed at it, still smiling. Phil growled defensively, "We all swore never to speak of that again!"

"I never promised," Zack said slyly, reaching up with a steady hand to gently push his finger out of his face. "Josh did. Not me." He put the same hand to his chin then, eyes wandering off in mock-thought. "Hmm, Dad's still looking for that, isn't he? I wonder what he'd think if he found out you decided to go snooping through his prized possessions and shredded Grandpa's book with your bare hands—"

"We all wanted to look at it! It wasn't just me!" Phil shouted, his fists clenched at his sides and shoulders rigid. "And I didn't shred them! They just… They just… came apart." His face broke, and he looked down with wide eyes, his breath hitching. That had to be one of his worst memories, how the pages just fell and tore like tissue paper from the book being old and damp from the leak in the attic. They weren't even supposed to be looking at it. If Dad ever found out…

Zack blinked at him with a surprised look that Phil knew he was faking, before smiling softly and patting the seat beside him. "Hey, no need to yell, Philly-Willy. I never said I was gonna tell. I was just reminding you of all _my_ cards." He smirked, too confident for Phil's liking. "You can't ever use your blackmail on me without me revealing all your dirty little secrets."

Phil didn't sit down. He stared at him with dinner-plate eyes for a few seconds, before he said simply, "Then you can't ever use any of your blackmail on me without me using my blackmail on you."

"Yea—Wha'da-huh?" Zack blinked a couple times in fast succession, his face going blank. "What?"

"I'm standing two feet in front of you—you heard me," he said plainly, his face going flatly sarcastic. "No more using your influence over me to make me do stuff for you. No more threats. Or else I'll go on the radio and announce to the entire city that Zack Shortman writes poetry. You screw with me ever again, or reveal any of my secrets, and I," he leaned in, cutting his eyes to slits, and hissed out his last words, "_ruin you_."

"Then I ruin you," Zack countered, unfazed. He smiled then at the sense deja-vu, marveling at how this had happened twice in a row today. Not ever being able to use his blackmail on him could be a bit of a stepback for him, but a minor one, and he could always worry about that later. "It appears we've come to an impasse."

"Oh, no," Phil said gravely, his eyes intense. "No impasse. I've waited too long to find something to hold over your head for this to be over just like that. For us to just be _neutral_." He took a heavy step forward, obliterating what space was between them and eliminating a good bit of the air, and Zack raised half of his eyebrow, pretending to be detachedly interested. Phil lowered his tone, dramatic to the bitter end, "Do you think I'm stupid? I told you I knew and you squashed a pair and dragged me into your room. You don't let _anyone_ into your room. You were clearly desperate. A blind person could see it." He leaned back then, thankfully, and eyed him with contempt.

Zack blinked, and tilted his head ever so slightly, struggling to keep his face disengaged. He smiled slightly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "And what are you trying to say exactly, Phil?"

"I'm saying," Phil began anxiously, frowning as he shifted his hands onto his hips importantly, "that I think my dirt outweighs all that you have on me."

There was a silence.

"And what the hell does that mean?"

Phil sighed, rolling his eyes in a show of impatience, though that was all it was—a show. On the inside, he was terrified. He kept his eyes focused on Zack's forehead, trying desperately not to break into a nervous tap dance. "Well, the bed—" he clenched his eyes shut, grimacing, "you know, is embarrassing, but it was a long time ago… and maybe it's not… so bad." Fat lie. He wasn't good with fat lies, they weighed down on him like a thirty ton weight. He trudged through nonetheless, "And Casablanca is just… a movie. Everyone knows I like movies, so who would care anyway…?" He opened his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek as he stared hard at Zack's long, bulbous nose angrily. "And Dad's journal, whether you like it or not, wasn't my fault. In the end, it was your idea, and Dad knows what a liar you are—if you told on me for that, you'd be selling yourself out just as much as you'd be selling me out." That was, at the very least, the honest truth.

Zack stared at him emotionlessly, his poker face flawless, and Phil wondered for the millionth time _how the heck he did that_—"You know I know more than just those three little things—"

"But it's just a lot more of the same stuff, all little, miniscule, infinitesimal—"

"Infinitesimal?" Zack squinted his eyes at him. "Criminy of all criminies, Dad really needs to stop buying you dictionaries."

"As I was saying," Phil pressed with a sharp edge to his words, and Zack thankfully shut his mouth, "everything you have on me is crap." Zack barked out a quick laugh at the unexpectedly blunt statement, but Phil ignored him. "You writing poetry is huge. It would completely ruin your reputation if people found out, and you know that. If anyone found out about all the stuff you have on me, it would stink, but it wouldn't kill me." Again, the truth. It made things easier for him, and he managed to meet Zack's eyes, taking note that there seemed to be something there he'd never seen before. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He decided it was probably bad, but he didn't care. "Besides, since when have I ever cared what people thought of me?" His face was flat. "I hate people. They're buffoons. I'll get over it and so will they. But you…" he smirked cleverly, "you won't."

Zack stared at him, eyes a bit more alert than they were before. "Phil…" he said, again with that serious tone that made Phil question himself, "are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"No," he said without hesitation, nonplussed, "but there's no time to learn like the present. You've underestimated me at every turn, and it's about time you paid for it. You'll try to get me back for all this, I know, but lucky for you," he smirked evilly, a note of utter, sadistic satisfaction in his brother's loss that was never in Zack's, "I have nothing left to hide."

* * *

><p>"Okay, so the stove was off before we left? Nobody left it on? Or the lights—please tell me everyone turned their lights off."<p>

"Football Head," Helga began dryly, throwing her head back against the car seat as she looked at him, "could you just relax? I made sure everything was off, all the doors are locked—and really, I don't know why you get so anxious. What do you think's going to happen? We're going to get robbed by a raccoon?"

"It wouldn't be hard," a voice commented from behind them, "He already has a mask."

Arnold brought one hand up off of the steering wheel for a moment to card through his hair, a sigh tumbling past his lips. "I just don't want a repeat of last month's bills, that's all. We really need to learn to be more conservative."

Helga's eyes softened and she reached over to grab his hand away from his hair, giving it a small squeeze. "Hey, no talk of real life today, remember? Today we all agreed to shut everything off and enjoy a nice visit with our friends. You've been too stressed lately."

"You have been too," Arnold reminded her, smiling tiredly.

"We _all_ have," the voice in the back said again, and Helga turned her head to look fishily at her eldest, ten-year-old son, soon to be eleven, who's finger was currently being sucked on by a pink bundle strapped into a car seat by his side. Josh sat on the other side of the one-year-old, with small Phil snug against the window. Despite his spit-covered hand, Zack was smirking in his seat, eyes lidded halfway as they gazed knowingly at his mom.

Helga continued giving him the fish-eye treatment before she finally had to break out into a smile, knowing full well he was right. Since Amanda Faith had been born, _none_ of them had gotten much sleep. Zack especially was very attentive to the baby, to the point sometimes when their baby monitor would go off and she'd have to wander into her room in the dead of night, she'd find him already in there making ridiculous faces at her, coaxing giggles and smiles out of the infant. It was very cute how quickly he'd bonded with her, along with Josh who was always anxious to hold her whenever he could, nuzzling against the little patch of blond hair on her head. Phil hadn't taken to her so easily. In fact, he outright seemed to hate her on some days, but sometimes when everyone was out of the room and he was left along with her, she'd peek around the doorway to catch him staring at her with a look that was anything but dislike.

Amanda was a breath of fresh air in the household, with the sweetest little smile and hugest green eyes, but she was also the world's biggest pain in the ass. She was very persistent with what she wanted, and would whine and scream the most ear-piercing scream for _hours_ 'til she got it. She'd grown very attached to Zack in her short year of life, and Helga had woken up a few times to find Zack asleep by the crib with the little girl gripping tight to his fingers, apparently unwilling to let him leave without bursting into tears. Zack waved off any comments on it, though, and liked to joke she was just in love with his hand. Helga hadn't believed it at first, but upon further inspection, she found there was some merit to his words—the first thing she did when she called him over was grab his hand and stick it in her mouth. She treasured it over all her colorful binkies and toys, held it higher than everything but cookies. Zack was astoundingly patient about it, which Helga marveled over to no end. She'd have chopped her hand off, replaced it with a hook and handed the bloody thing over to Amanda a long time ago.

Staring at that hand now, with Faith happily chomping on it, Helga wondered how he could stand it now that Amanda had developed teeth. Small as they were, it had to be painful. Concerned and with a slight grimace on her face, she asked, "Zack, don't you think it's about time you weaned her off of your hand?"

Zack blinked with widened eyes, as if she'd asked him why grass wasn't purple anymore, before he shrugged. "I don't mind it. Really—"

"We can't have her chewing on your hand forever, Zack," Helga admonished, giving him a look that didn't allow for further argument. "It'll fall off. Besides, once we get to Gerald and Phoebe's you don't want to have to sit there the entire time with her trying to eat your hand. Do you?"

Zack frowned, looking down. He seemed very conflicted on the matter, and Helga realized with some surprise he'd grown accustomed to his baby sister's relationship with his hand. She'd admit it was hard to ever say no to her pudgy, innocent little face, but by this point, his hand had to be numb for him to even be considering… Slowly bringing a hand up to rest on her face, she sighed. "Zachary… I don't know what's going on in your head right now, but stop. Humor me."

"Well, okay," Zack began, suddenly bright-eyed and happy. "So two chickens walk into a bar, and they're like, 'Hey, we were just crossing the road and—'"

"Zachary," Arnold groaned.

Zack frowned, just in time for Amanda to burst into a peal of giggles, letting go of his hand for just a second in her delight. Zack smirked at her, gesturing smugly as he looked to his mom. "See? She thinks I'm funny."

"She's too young to understand what you're saying," Helga deadpanned, dipping her head down to look at him from beneath her bangs.

Josh gasped at his mother's words, reeling forward in shock. "That's racist!" His brow creased then and he looked down in befuddlement. "Wait, no…"

"That's babyist!" Phil declared, and Zack snorted, breaking out in laughter along with Amanda.

"Mom's a babyist?" Josh asked with his features twisting, disturbed at this news.

Phil nodded his head animatedly, and Zack shifted his torso around Amanda's car seat to grin toothily at them, his hands meanwhile pushing up the sleeves of his plaid shirt that was still way too big for him. "We should start a petition," he hooted, before raising his fists as far as the restrictive space of the car would allow. "End the hate! End the hate!"

The other two boys joined in with his chant, banging their fists on their knees, the seats, anything they could as Helga gaped at them, appalled. "It's not _babyist_, it's fact! She's _one_!"

She heard a snicker beside her and whipped her head around to stare at her husband as he tried in vain to conceal a few laughs in his hand, refusing to meet her eyes. Her jaw further dislocated itself from her skull, and she screeched incredulously, "Arnold!"

"What?" he stuttered amidst his amusement, grinning that irritatingly lopsided grin of his as he looked over at her.

"Don't encourage them!" she scolded, her eyebrows dropping as she gave him a hard look. "Back me up here, will ya?"

Arnold rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her shrill tone and gave her a small, lazy salute. "Of course, ma'am. Right away, ma'am." Skillfully ignoring her pointed look, he drove the car up to park along the sidewalk by a particularly tall brick building. As soon as the car had come to a stop and the break was in place, Arnold shut the car off and leaned back in his seat, sighing as the band of monkeys in the back seat finally quieted down. "Zack, quit avoiding the question and listen your mother."

"What question?" Zack asked innocently. As if on cue, Amanda let out a small squeal, her tiny fingers stretching out towards his hand.

Helga saw him considering giving it to her, and immediately growled, "Short man…"

As it always did, Zack's entire face went blank and his movements stilled. He blinked, and even that action seemed stilted. Helga smirked proudly, knowing she had him—if there was one thing her son hated, it was being called something he was not, and it made for a great tool in situations where he refused to listen.

Rather than answering, he unbuckled himself and, without sparing Amanda or anyone a look, opened his door and gently shut it. Helga sighed at the typical response, waving her husband away to exit along with the rest of them as she struggled in the awkward position, her torso twisted around the car seat, to undo the clips on Amanda's seat. As soon as she was free, she took a breath and hefted her up into her arms, impatiently trying to both simultaneously unlock and open the car door. Amanda gripping at her hair wasn't helping matters, either.

Before she could properly lose her temper and let loose a string of words inappropriate for Faith's ears, the door came open and Helga looked up to see her husband holding the door open for her with a small, half smile. She returned that smile gratefully, heaving herself up out of the car to grab a hold on his arm to balance herself and Amanda. As he threw the door shut, she leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "My knight in shining armor," she jested, smiling fondly before making her way up the sidewalk to the front door of the brownstone.

Arnold smirked, following after her as Josh and Phil fell into step by his sides, Phil eagerly grabbing hold of his hand and gripping tight.

Zack, being as far ahead of them as he was, jumped high onto the stoop, skipping steps as he stumbled gracelessly to the top. Not waiting for anyone to reach him, he jammed his finger into the doorbell, and was shocked backward when the door opened immediately. He stumbled back, his panic stricken mind barely able to register Gerald's shocked face before he fell—right into his mother's waiting arm, her other carefully holding Amanda as she giggled at Zack's klutziness.

Arnold hurried over to help and grabbed Zack up from against Helga, carefully setting him back on his feet. Gerald just chuckled, opening the door wider as he gave them a welcoming smile. He wore an old, loose baseball jersey and casual jeans, his tall hair drooping ever so slightly to the left. "Well…" His eyes darted between them all amusedly, unsure of what to say.

"Hi," Zack exclaimed, apparently unconcerned with his near concussion.

Gerald chuckled again. "Hi, Zack." He regarded them all with a smirk. "Guys," he greeted, "I was just telling Phoebe you should have been here thirty minutes ago."

Arnold expression immediately turned sheepish, and he opened his mouth to respond.

His lovely wife interrupted him with a grunt and a, "We get here when we get here, Pheebs knows that," before pushing Gerald out of the way and striding into the house. Gerald sent a dry look to her back that went ignored, and Arnold ambled inside with the slightest of smirks.

As everyone came inside and the front door was closed and locked, Arnold smiled to his best friend when he turned back around from the door and said, "Sorry for the lateness. It's been a stressful day so far."

Gerald tsked him, putting the backs of his hands on his sides as he gave him a reproachful look that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Really, Arnold, I'd have thought fourth times the charm, but you're still just as much of a basket case as you were with the rest of 'em. You need to learn to _chill_." Smirking then, he crossed his arms over his chest and quipped, "Mmm, mmm, mmm, never thought I'd have to say those words to you, man. You're killing me here."

Arnold laughed warmly and stepped forward to grab him into a hug, patting him firmly on the back as he did so. "It's good to see you too, Gerald."

Josh was standing by watching this exchange with little interest, when he startled at the exclamation, "Ham!"

He whirled around to see a short, Asian girl standing at the other side of the room, her eyes as wide as they could go behind her red glasses and grin large and contagious. Her black hair was half up in a bun, some down and falling just above her shoulders with long, neat tendrils on both sides of her face, the sheer blackness of it glinting in the light as she began approaching him quickly.

Josh grinned back, albeit with an exasperation as he closed the space between them. "Do you _have_ to call me that?" he asked, shoulders drooping slightly. "It sounds ridiculous."

She laughed outright at him, challenging him with her posture. "You know you like it, so stop pretending. You're always complaining about your first name. Unless you prefer Abby—"

"Meat's fine," Josh hastened to say, wincing.

She smirked and grabbed him by the hand then, dragging him excitedly towards the kitchen. "Okay! Then come on, _Ham_, Mom and I made cookies."

The exasperation in his eyes disappeared as soon as her hand met his, and he smiled, following after her willingly. "Coming," he chirped, eliciting another laugh out of her before they vanished into the kitchen.

Phil watched all this take place awkwardly, and looked around a bit desperately before following after them earnestly. "Wait up for me!" he called, running after them for lack of anything better to do.

Gerald shared a look with Arnold, something secret passing between them just a moment before their hands joined together and they did their signature handshake, grinning at the nostalgic effect it always had over them before they began off in the direction of the living room, moments after Helga had disappeared into the kitchen to speak to Phoebe. Zack followed after them dutifully, eyes wandering to take in the homey qualities of the house. Warm wallpaper and dark flooring, with the lights somehow dimmed throughout the house in favor of the natural lighting coming in through the windows. The house had a very Japanese, earthy tone to it, and Zack found himself appreciating it for the hundredth time of his life.

The sleeves of his shirt unrolled themselves and fell down the length of his arms, and he pushed them back up, rolling them up thoughtfully as he now stood in the living room, observing the bonsai sitting on the coffee table. His father had offered many times to buy him a shirt that actually properly fit him, with a strange, somewhat pained look in his eye that Zack didn't understand, but he always refused. There was a deep sentimentality embedded inside of him for the shirt, not unlike his parents' attachment to some of their old childhood things. His father still clung to a little blue hat somedays, and his mother held onto a jewelry box full of her old ribbons from when she was a girl.

There was one bow in particular she looked very fondly on, old and falling apart at the ends in soft, pink strings. She never let anyone near that bow, but could be just as sentimental about her others when she would tie Amanda's hair up with them. The bows never quite fit on her, though—they would droop and fall over into her face, amusing Amanda to no end. Zack found himself wondering sometimes if they would ever fit her with her head as small as it was, and realized that he couldn't really picture her big. She would always be small in his eyes, with a bow too big for her head and green eyes just as unbefitting for such a small face.

He was startled out of his reverie by Gerald, who had been lost in conversation with his father. The man addressed him from across the room on the abnormally plush and comfortable-looking couch, looking over at him with a warm expression, "So how does it feel, Zack? Next year you'll be in middle school. You're growing up so fast."

Zack blinked at him a moment, processing his words, before he shrugged and looked back down at the bonsai. "All right, I guess." He simpered then, looking up to meet his eyes. "Though I'm a lot more excited for summer vacation."

Gerald laughed, glancing over to look at Arnold a moment before looking back at him with a smile. "I'm sure you are. Just one more month 'til freedom. I remember those days." He leaned back luxuriously into the couch, sinking back into the cushions. "Ice cream, swimming pools, arcade, and non-stop fun. Good times, good times."

"Don't let him fool you," Arnold said with a short eye roll, smiling as he looked his son in the eye with his forever half-lidded eyes. "He's thinking about his birthday more than anything else. He just can't wait to wreck the house."

Zack grinned at the smirking adults, not even attempting to hide his motivations as he walked over to plop himself down onto the couch beside his dad, bouncing lightly before he pulled his legs up onto the couch. "Maybe, maybe not," he said mysteriously, smirking as they both tittered.

"You know, you oughta be more excited," Gerald told him, sitting up slightly to lean forward, his legs spread and arms supporting his upper body on his knees. "You and Jaron will be going to the same school next year."

Zack's eyebrow raised high. "Who?"

Gerald faltered for a moment at his reaction, before he seemed to come to some conclusion and sighed, his smile returning somewhat ruefully. "My other son? The one with the glasses?"

Zack's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, the one with the sweater vests?" Silently, he labeled the boy in question as 'nerd,' but he would never voice that thought. Of course he knew the boy, the Johanssen household was practically his second home, ranking closely beside the boarding house, and he knew the house and it's residents inside and out. _Except_ for the sweater vest boy. He was very quiet and very seldom seen when he was over for visits. The only reason he knew he existed was because he was always at the table during dinner, picking at his fish and looking longingly at a magazine by his plate with a big plate of French fries on the cover. Zack never knew what to say to him, so he just avoided him, and vice-versa.

So the burst of apprehensiveness was expected when Gerald replied, "Yep, that's him. You two should really be more close. You're both the same age, and he could use some more friends." There was something careful in the way he said that, like he was giving close consideration to his words, and Zack wondered just how unpopular the kid had to be for them to be having this conversation. "He's always cooped up in his room with books and video games—you still like books, don't you?"

Zack merely raised half of his unibrow at the man, both incredulous and inquisitive at the same time. Luckily he was saved from having to come up with a response when the oldest Johanssen son waltzed into the room in a t-shirt and basketball shorts, but a year older than him and with a grin unburdened by the world and it's pains. That grin widened at the sight of him and he greeted, "Hey! Zack! Just the man I wanted to talk to."

"Yeah, you and a million other people," Zack said matter-of-factly, an arrogant smirk on his face as he sat on the couch like he was the owner and the other the guest.

The tall, eleven-year-old paused at this response, a slight smirk splintering at the edges of his mouth as he took him in. "Well, no ego problems in here—"

"None that aren't justified," Zack retorted smugly, before he was pushed suddenly and looked over to see his dad giving him a humorous look, though he seemed to be trying to disapprove of his behavior. Zack just grinned.

Gerald cracked a genuine smile at the sight of his son. "Taro, we were just talking about how Jaron and Zack will be in the same grade next year."

Taro hummed, acknowledging the topic without really joining into it. He'd been well aware for some time now that his dad was going to be transferring Jaron to Zack's school at the beginning of middle school, at the request of Jaron who didn't much like the high standards of their current school, but he didn't see anything truly noteworthy in the situation. After all, Zack and Jaron weren't friends, and he had trouble even picturing the two of them in the same room together let alone having a conversation. They were too different, and Taro gave his father a mildly disapproving look for his less than subtle implications.

Phil came wandering into the room then with a large cookie, nibbling on the edges and stealing the adults' attention. Taro took advantage of the momentary distraction to address Zack, "Can I talk to you?"

"You are now," Zack replied noncommittally, but hopped down from the couch all the same and followed Taro out of the room.

Taro began speaking while they were still walking, making their ways into the den, "So you remember that kid you wanted me to watch? That big, red-headed kid?"

Zack immediately stopped walking, curiosity lighting his eyes. He smiled. "Yeah, what about him?"

Taro wasted no time, saying the words just as he'd turned around to face him, "He's gone."

Zack stared at him, his smile still in place.

Taro blinked. When Zack still didn't respond, he shrugged and added, thinking he needed more information, "He hasn't been in school since last Wednesday. I asked the principal about it, and he said he moved, so…" He smiled, reaching over to pat Zack on the shoulder. "I supposed that's the end of that, huh?"

Zack still didn't move, and barely reacted to his touch, before he finally nodded his head slowly, absorbing this information. "That's a little weird," he said quietly, giving a little laugh that Taro thought for a split-second didn't sound very like his normal one. That thought vanished as Zack said funnily, "Who moves just before summer break? Seems kind of impractical."

"I was thinking the same thing," Taro said mirthfully, his smile widening at Zack's continued ability to find the humor in any situation, no matter how difficult. And he knew how concerning Zack could find this topic.

Zack had warned him of the boy a year before, telling him of what a bully he had been at his school and asked him to keep an eye on him. Taro had readily agreed and thanked him for the warning, making sure to always keep a close watch on him to make sure nothing fishy was ever afoot.

The boy he'd soon learned was named August Bailey had a smug air to him that Taro didn't find very welcoming, with a frustrated defiance that presented itself whenever they crossed paths. Taro was unafraid, though, feeling no need for the emotion, and was happy to see that he mainly kept to himself, always twitchingly adjusting things in his locker so they were straight and staring too hard at his lunch. Clearly not a good boy, but at least not as much of a menace as Zack had seemed convinced he was.

Taro gave updates to Zack on his behavior every once in a while, always making sure to note his quietness, save for a few times he'd scowled just a little too threateningly at a third grader or two. But then Taro might have done the same had anyone tried to take the last chocolate milk away from him—before breaking out laughing at the ridiculousness of that scenario. He was just happy it was all over. Now they didn't have to worry about him anymore. He opened his mouth to voice so, but was interrupted.

"I wonder where he moved," Zack commented in a strange tone that Taro didn't recognize, before he laughed again and smiled wanly. "First he switches schools and then he moves. Will he ever be content?"

"It doesn't matter," Taro said, eying him a moment before he smiled again. "Let's just be happy he's gone. He can't pose a threat anymore. Now we can relax."

"Yeah, relax," Zack said, sounding strangely far off.

Taro gasped suddenly, scaring them both. "Zack, your arm!"

Zack looked down, and was startled to find that his arm had started shaking almost violently. Sucking in a breath, he grabbed his arm in a moment of panic, before he tremulously crossed his arms over his chest, looking shaken in more ways than one. He somehow managed to maintain his smile during all this, though, and he laughed, sounding much more genuine this time. "Sorry," he said smally, still smiling, "ever since that baseball accident last year it's been weird. I guess I'm just surprised."

Taro hummed, nodding his head solemnly in understanding. "I know what you mean. Ever since I broke my leg three years ago, it just hasn't been the same." He kicked that leg up, wincing a little at the telltale crack that resounded in the room before he slowly lowered it, laughing. "But then I was impatient and got the cast off when it probably wasn't ready."

"I know," Zack responded in kind, nodding. "I was anxious to get my cast off too." He cleared his throat then, a shockingly raspy sound, before he smiled once more and nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. "I've gotta go use the bathroom. Thanks for letting me know about things."

"Of course," Taro said simply, before exiting back into the living room, apparently unsuspicious of anything less than normal. He never was observant, Zack thought as he stumbled his way up the stairs, gasping.

"Gone," he murmured, letting out another bitter laugh. "Disappeared. Again. Gone. Gone _where_?" Gripping his left arm tight, he walked down the short hallway to the bathroom, a weight that had been just above him for quite some time now weighing impossibly on his shoulders.

"Darn it," he cursed, kicking the door open and falling into the room. He gagged, one hand on the toilet holding himself up as his head hung beside the toilet, between it and the sink. Absently, he kicked the door shut and gagged again, wincing. He took in a shaky breath, anger stinging at his eyes as he stared at the tile floor. He wasn't ever supposed to be gone. He was supposed to stay where he could keep him under his thumb. Where could he have _gone_?

"Oh, criminy," he moaned, breathing heavily. He hadn't had an episode like this in what felt like decades.

"Why are you hyperventilating next to a toilet?"

Zack's head snapped up in stunned shock, his jaw dropping as he realized he wasn't alone. He whipped his head over to see sweater vest boy sitting fully clothed in the bathtub, looking at him like he was mad. He wore his usual ghastly sweater and thick, golden glasses, with baggy jeans and his curling, black hair piled on top of his head.

The spooked look on his face alerted Zack that he'd been gawking too long, and he coughed a couple times, trying to save face. "Uh, I wasn't hyperventilating. Just too much breakfast." To go along with the lie, he twisted his face into a pained look, hoping the weak grimace would fool him.

The boy, identified as Jaron, looked at him incredulously. He reached up to adjust his glasses, as if that would help him make sense of him, and said matter-of-factly, "You should know that I can tell quite easily when falsehoods are being fabricated, Zack."

Zack's eyebrow shot up high past his hair. "You know my name?"

Jaron observed him, his expression unreadable. "Everyone knows your name." He licked his lips then, a nervous look suddenly overtaking his face. "You come over enough. Plus we used to play together in the vacant lot sometimes."

"You mean Gerald Field?" Zack asked.

"The vacant lot," Jaron repeated, shifting in the bathtub. Zack noticed the book in his hand then, and found his traitorous eyes seeking out the title. Jaron speaking again thankfully stopped him, "Now why are you really in here?"

"Why are you in here?" Zack shot back, finding himself resentful of being called a liar, even if it was true. Nobody ever called him out on that. Ever. Especially not some boy in a bathtub.

The boy looked startled at the question, before he shifted again, looking very uncomfortable. Zack smirked at that, satisfied that they were on even ground now.

He rose up from the floor and stretched his limbs, suppressing any lingering thoughts on _him_ as he did so, before falling down onto the toilet lid. Feeling a bit cocky with himself, he leaned forward to see what he was reading, curiosity masked by him just wanting to be a twit. The words "Where the Red…" caught his eye just before Jaron hid the book from sight, the rest of the title lost to him. But he didn't need to see anymore.

"Avoiding people, huh?" Zack said with somber understanding, supporting himself by his arms on his knees.

Jaron looked down at the book hidden in his legs, his lips pursed tight.

"Your dad says we're going to be going to the same middle school," Zack said, tilting his head at a ridiculous angle in an attempt to catch his eyes. "So I guess we'll be seeing each other more often."

In the end, the glint of the florescent light on his glasses destroyed any chance at knowing where his eyes even _were_, and he couldn't get a good enough angle to correct the fact. Hopelessly, Zack stood from the toilet and began towards the door.

"Are," Jaron's reluctant voice stilled the hand reaching for the doorknob, his voice cracking for just a second before he continued, unsurely, "Are you really the Zack Shortman, as in, the guy with a superfluous amount of friends? I mean, I've known you for some time, but I haven't really seen you in public since the vacant lot some years back and…" He took a breath. "There could be another Zack I'm not aware of."

Zack found himself staring a second too long and immediately puffed up his chest, pride swelling inside him. He'd known he was popular, but not enough to warrant a question like that. Nonetheless—"No, I am that Zack—Zachary Shortman, the one and only, in the flesh. Hold your applause, thanks." He smirked wickedly, just before the sleeves of his shirt fell down his arms again. His smirk dropped and he let out a silent sigh, beginning work on the tiresome sleeves once more.

Jaron apparently chose not to respond to this information, as he sat stilly in the bathtub and merely looked back down at his book again.

There was a silence after that, one that Zack was beginning to find increasingly uncomfortable.

"Well then," Zack said, looking almost longingly at the door, "it was nice to finally meet you." Under his breath, he muttered, "Sorta." He fumbled for the doorknob, before gripping it tight and preparing to swing it open and make for the nearest closet to recuperate.

He stopped himself, though, for just a second, and he lingered. Glancing back over at sweater vest boy, he tilted his head slightly before saying, as an afterthought that seemed to nearly give Jaron a heart attack, "Not to ruin the ending for you, but that book has a really sad ending. I don't know if that's your thing, but I didn't much like it. Not the best escape." Jaron blinked at him, surprised.

With that, Zack opened the door and left, resolving himself to find his own hiding place for a little while.

At least until he could go home.

"Gone," he whispered.

* * *

><p>Light streamed in through the window, nature's magic brightening every crevice of the room in a way a lightbulb never could.<p>

Said lightbulb was currently spying under the door, just underneath in that little slit that kept the door _just_ above the floor, as if it were envious of the sun's rays. Like a jealous lover. A clingy friend.

Glass ever so breakable, door easily caved in—it was a veritable time bomb of disaster.

Duct tape whizzed through the air, cutting the silence with knife-life precision. Zack let out a breath.

In neat, vertical rows, he placed the strips of tape on his window, from up to down, and then from left to right horizontally. With each piece, the dimmer the room grew, until it was completely shrouded in blackness, save for the jealous florescence under his door.

A thick sheet was then taped above the window, before he was content enough in his work to take a step back. The duct tape fell deftly from his hand, the otherwise loud thump of it's fall broken by the carpet.

Dragging his desk chair to the center of the room, he stepped up and clicked on the light, giving sight to what he already knew was there. Shadows stalked in corners and cracks despite the light, though. He should really invest in some other source of lighting—something he could control from ground level and would keep everything alit and naked to his eyes. The words _Short Man_ breathed in his ear following the thought, and his eyes narrowed. He was ten. Young. Not short.

Jumping down, he replaced his chair and looked around uncertainly, his arms crossed tight. His eyes lingered on the sheet over his window. Like thin strips of sticky elastic and a bed sheet was going to keep him out. With the sun directly over it, he bet one could even see his outline traipsing about inside. He could just as easily get sniped.

He clenched his eyes shut at the thought, an ugly grimace passing over his face. What a thought. How old was he now anyway? Fifteen? Sixteen? Could you even own a gun at that age? Certainly not.

Although one could be registered all the same, provided an adult held onto it for him. Right? He'd seen kids shooting before. It wouldn't be hard for someone to get a hold of a gun. It had happened enough, what with all those school shootings and whatnot. He wouldn't put it past him. Zack's eyes opened at the thought, and he bit his lip.

The next second he groaned, stumbling back to fall back onto his bed with a bounce and skip of a heartbeat. He was being paranoid, surely. Taro had said he'd been gone since last week. If he wanted him dead, he'd have done it already. Left him choking on his own blood and skipped town a long time ago. There was nothing to worry about. The sheet and tape would do. He probably didn't even need it. Sunshine meant him no harm. Except perhaps skin cancer, but that was hardly concerning at the moment.

No, it had been almost two years since the events that had taken place… before. He wasn't supposed to be afraid anymore. Like Taro said, he was gone. It was over. No more reason to fret.

He hadn't wanted him to ever be gone, though. He wanted him in his line of sight at all times. Like keeping an eye on a snake to make sure it wasn't rearing to strike. He hadn't been happy with their arrangement, and more than once when he'd been out on the town with his friends he'd caught his eye from across a street or in a dark alley, watching him. Not hatefully, but not good either. Even months after the fact, the searing heat in his hazel eyes sent a shot of terror down Zack's spine, and he'd have to look away and fake a grin for his friends. Nobody liked a crybaby, and he would never prove himself to be anything less than likeable. Who knew what would happen if he ever ended up alone in the middle of the street again with _him_ on the prowl? Nothing good, or clean.

But he had blackmail, he reminded himself, somewhat frantically. He was untouchable. Untouchable and with him under his control. The entire thing was foolproof. He'd made sure of that. He still had all his old evidence in a shoebox in his closet, taped up tight and hidden stealthily beneath a pile of shirts he never wore.

But all that didn't matter anymore. Because he was gone. Gone to a place he didn't know and couldn't watch him, and probably still angry at the only person who had the means to put him away in juvie. Oh, he should have just gone to the police in the first place, screwed all that 'mercy' crap. What was he thinking? Foolish, young and foolish, he cursed, slamming his fists down on the bed.

Untouchable, he repeated in his mind, again and again, creating a chain of it in his head. He'd just have to be more cautious. That was all. Bulletproof glass existed didn't it? He could make himself a safe bubble. Oh, but then people might find it a little strange that he was walking around in a ball. Well, except Riley anyway.

Well, for the window, at least. That'd be a perfect solution to his duct tape/sheet problem. He'd get stronger locks, a sturdier door. One that hopefully kept out that annoying little sliver of light at the bottom. Curtains as well, perhaps. The thick, heavy type that he could swish shut and feel all foreboding, like a modern day Dracula or something. Speaking of which, garlic—dairy was his weakness. _He_ was lactose intolerant. If worse came to worse, he could always assign a herd of cows guard duty outside his window. He smirked at the thought.

Out of everything, though, he could at least be sure of one thing, no matter the fact it was a less than comforting thought—he would be back. There was no way this was over. He had never been the type to let things go. It was a well-known fact. It was why he'd been cowered of in the hallway, and everyone ran in the other direction. Even when they were just looking at Zack, they fled. Nobody wanted to mess with him or anything related to him, because they knew as soon as they became involved, it was all over. It was what he was known for. He hadn't tamed a pussycat for two years, he'd stuck a hot poker into a bear's anus, held it there for as long as he could while the bear was shackled down, and expected him to be okay with it. This wasn't over. He'd be back.

Neat and tidy. Bailey liked having all his ducks in a row. Zack just wished he knew when.

Hopefully, he thought as his eyes began to drift shut, he would return soon. Zack would much rather be dead than have to spend his life constantly looking over his shoulder. That was no way to live. Hadn't he already decided that? It was practically his philosophy, take it easy and smile for the camera—and _always_ be within a large group of people.

He fell asleep to the sounds of Josh arguing with Phil, and his mom and dad blaring the television to some flamboyantly giddy cartoon to try to calm them down. Phil began screaming instead.

As the years passed, August never did show up on his doorstep. The only person to try to get through his window was Josh (or Ham, as the years would decree him). No one ever pulled him into an alley except to laugh at him and offer a soda. And no one ever, ever called him worthless again.

Still, Zack continued to look over his shoulder. The plain glass of his window was replaced, the sheet thrown out in favor of a comforter, his door "magically" broken so his parents had to invest in a new one, and a block of wood with rubber coating wedged beneath the door. He cursed himself and gagged and smiled and pretended everything was okay. Eventually survival was pushed to the back of his mind. Entire months could go by that he wouldn't feel the need to run. And soon enough, he'd suppressed the memory all together.

He never truly forgot, though. Every redhead within Hillwood knew to keep their distance. No one stayed around long enough to invoke any real thought or concern, and Zack was happy.

Until Pamella Idleberry.

* * *

><p>Ham walked down the hall, a constant sense of "what the hell" painted mildly across his features. His usual red-white baseball shirt was slung over his shoulder, leaving nothing but his gray undershirt, and a white iPod held securely in his left hand. One earbud was in his ear, while the other was slung over his shoulder by his shirt.<p>

The walk to his parents' bedroom was a short one from the stairs, the first and only door to the left, but he always made sure to take his time getting there, letting his footsteps fall as heavily as would bid them without sounding like he was purposely trying to make a spectacle of himself. Even if no one was around to see, he could see himself—and that was just as bad.

Making it to the door, he stood a moment, clicking his iPod off before rapping his knuckles on the door with controlled force.

His mother's voice came a few seconds later, "Come in!"

Not needing to be told twice, he swung the door open, his face neutral. "Mom, I—" His eyes went huge and he quickly looked away, closing the door halfway to shield himself. "Mom, what—"

"What?" his mother asked, just as his father pulled on the strings of her girdle again, eliciting an undignified whoosh of air out of her lips.

She was gripping the edge of their bedpost, in nothing but loose-fitting jeans and a cotton white shirt—and a pink girdle tied tightly about her ribs. His father stood behind her, gripping the laces in his fists and observing her like one might a Mona Lisa painting.

Ham looked away again, eyes still wide. He didn't know why he was surprised. "Uh, if this isn't a good time…"

"Nonsense," Helga wheezed, smiling at him in her usual loving fashion. "Arnold's just been helping me get ready for your aunt's visit next month. You know Olga with her flashy clothes and updos—there's no way I'm getting upstaged in my own home."

"Yeah, either that or this is just another form of birth control," Arnold commented in a mutter, fiddling with a few laces that had twisted.

Helga's smile remained on her face, even as she muttered back, "Keep up comments like that and we won't even need birth control."

"Uh," Ham uttered, brows knitted as he stared awkwardly.

Before Arnold could respond, Helga gasped and scowled, gesturing towards him as she looked frustrated at her husband over her shoulder. "Have you even had the talk with him? And here you're making comments like that?"

"He's fourteen, dear," Arnold said patiently, still focused on the strings of her back. "I don't think a talk is really necessary now."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot he was your son," Helga snorted, gripping the bedpost with whitening knuckles. She smirked. "Mr. Grasp-and-Gasp—"

She faltered as he gave a forceful tug of the strings on her back, leaving her breathing shallow. Arnold leaned into her, smiling by her ear with half-lidded eyes. "You were saying, Helga?"

"I think you broke a rib," she ground out huskily through clenched teeth, face frozen in a grimace.

"You guys," Ham said a little desperately, fortunately or unfortunately gaining their attention, "I think Zack's trying to kill Phil."

Both his parents' eyebrows flew high at the news, before Helga scoffed and tore away from her husband, screwing blindly at the strings on her back. Arnold came forward instantly and released her from the restrictive torture device, allowing her to sigh out in relief. As soon as she'd gained her composure, she looked to Ham and said, "That's impossible, I only just talked to Zack a couple hours ago." She shared a look with Arnold. They both knew what talk she was speaking of.

"I just had Phil scream at me to call 911," Ham said, frowning.

Helga rolled her eyes, a hand on her abdomen as she took a step back to fall into the long, black lounge chair by the wall, looking much like a therapy patient in that moment, with Arnold still standing by the bed with a girdle in his hand. "Phil screams for someone to call 911 when he finds a _spider_ in his room," she said dryly. "This is hardly cause for concern."

"Yeah," Ham acknowledged with a similar look, "but Zack had him slung over his shoulder when he said it. Last I saw, Zack was slamming his room locked behind them."

Both Arnold and Helga's eyes widened, and their eyes met again in a worried glance. Zack never let anyone in his room.

"Well, criminy," Helga groused, standing up from the chair. "I guess we all know what this means."

She strode over to her husband and grabbed the girdle from his hand, throwing it carelessly to the bed before grabbing his shoulders and leading him to the door. "Time for the football head of the house to go be a man and discipline his children."

"What?" Arnold asked incredulously, tossing a look over his shoulder at her.

"You heard me, Bruce Lee, go kick your kids into shape!" She slapped him on the butt, pushing him all the more determinedly to the door. Ham took the remaining step into the room and stepped out of the doorway.

Rather than letting himself get pushed out the door, Arnold made a quick grab for the bedpost, gripping tight as his alarmingly strong wife continued to push on his shoulders. She cursed as her grip slipped, and Arnold grabbed for the other post, letting out a huff. "Helga, be reasonable. Zack would never hurt Phil. I'm sure the two of them are just having a talk."

"Oh, please," Helga sniffed, grabbing him by his collar so she could continue to pull. "You just don't want to have to face down your son 'cause you know he'll make you want to rip your hair out."

"Hey, I love Zack—" Arnold argued.

"I didn't say you didn't love him," Helga grunted, walking around the bed to jump up and lay back, trying to push him with her sock-clad feet to let go of the bed. He winced at her efforts. "I'm saying he's the only person besides me capable of getting under your skin."

Arnold didn't respond to that. Instead he let out a sharp noise when Helga all but kicked him in the back, her fingers all the while trying to pry his fingers off the bedpost. "Helga, we are almost forty years old," he said tiredly, as if she needed reminding. "Don't you think we're a little old for this game?"

"I will never be too old to whip your ass into shape," she told him in a voice that shouldn't have sounded so sweet to him, just as she succeeded in prying his fingers off and proceeded to kick him towards the door. He stumbled forward, just as she jumped off the bed and advanced on him, pushing his ever-loving plaid self towards the door once more. "Now go be the man I married and keep your young from eating each other!"

"Helga, stop," he said, though he didn't resist her efforts this time, "why can't you—"

"Stop it! Stop it!" a voice screamed suddenly in raw anguish, snapping all eyes to the short, brunette boy in the doorway. "_You're tearing this family apart_!"

Just as soon as he'd started, Phil stopped, letting his hands from his head as he looked indifferently between his parents and brother, like nothing had happened. "Sorry, I've just always really wanted to say that."

"Phil," Helga breathed, surprised, "you're not dead."

Phil turned his eyes on her a moment, frowning. "Of course not."

"Ham said you were screaming earlier," Arnold explained, and Ham gave a vague nod.

Phil didn't move his head; simply shifted his eyes towards him, eyebrows just barely furrowing. "Great timing, Ham," he praised without feeling, "I'd have been stiff and at the bottom of the lake by now." When the raised eyebrows failed to turn from him, he flicked his eyes up. "Nothing happened, don't worry about it."

Everyone opened their mouths to speak, but he'd already left, not caring enough to ask about the girdle on the floor, or his parents disheveled appearance.

Helga huffed, giving her husband a dirty look. "He gets that stupid listless look from you."

Arnold gave her a listless look for the comment, not bothering to respond. Helga flicked him in the ear for it. He cursed.

"Well," Ham said awkwardly, beginning slowly towards the door, "I guess that settles that. I'll just leave."

"Oh, you don't have to go," Helga said tenderly, taking a step towards him as he continued to back away. In the background, his father picked the girdle back up.

Ham smiled benignly, already in the doorway with his hand on the knob. "Yeah, I really do. Bye, Mom."

Just as he closed the door, he heard his dad ask, his voice deep and gravelly, "Now where were we?"

He broke into a run.

* * *

><p>As soon as Phil was out of the room, Zack dead bolted his door shut and turned off the lights, before falling back on his bed, his long legs sprawled across the carpet. The stars on his ceiling glowed almost cheerfully, a reminder of a more carefree time in his life. He didn't know how he felt about that. He didn't know how he felt about anything.<p>

He hadn't gotten but a few hours sleep last night. He'd already had an emotionally trying day with Pam. He thought it was over. He thought he was in the clear.

Maybe his mom was right. Maybe he was oversimplifying things with his optimism. Maybe he'd never truly been in the clear. He was just ignoring the fact.

What a disturbing thought. Leave it to his mom to make him question his entire life.

A few moments passed of silence—blissful silence, his brain giving in to numbness. And the world was calm.

And then he gave a shout and flailed violently, kicking his legs and pounding his arms on his bed, wrecking the sheets and causing his pillows to propel off the bed. He bolted up for a split second, stunned, before he let his eyes roll back with a groan and fell back onto the bed.

God, he'd never wanted to die so much before in his life. Or to just scream. If all this time he'd been able to twist and manipulate the truth over into his happy, ignorant favor, how bad did today have to be for him to feel this horrible? He didn't want to think about it.

Hilarious, really, that the redhead should prove merciful and his little brother should be the one to pose the real threat. There was no way he would have ever seen that coming. It was just like life to throw a curve-knife straight into his back. Though he supposed he should have seen it coming to some extent. Of course Phil would be brutal, he wouldn't let things go—he was too stubborn. Hadn't he always been? And yet he'd never worried about him. He was his baby bro, small and fluffy-headed with his spastic, adorable ways. He couldn't hate him. He wanted to—mother of God, did he want to after _that_—but he couldn't.

But then again, this wasn't as big a deal to Phil as it was to him. This was all a _game_ as far as he was concerned. But—hell—that sadistic glint in his eye, like he enjoyed his suffering—that hurt. Phil wasn't evil. Was he?

No, he was just a smug little bastard. His little brother. His own flesh and blood—of course he'd be the only one to ever truly get the best of him. He was the only one who shared his diabolicalness. Or, Amanda did too, but she used it to get cookies from the top shelf.

He sighed. He couldn't fault him for wanting to beat him at his own game. How long had he teased that it was impossible? He hadn't meant to make it seem like a challenge—he just enjoyed teasing. He liked poking his family and cackling in their ears, because—in a sick sort of way—he liked knowing that no matter how much he got on their nerves, they would never hurt him. They loved him no matter what and always would. And yet he still poked the sleeping bull over and over again, like a test to see if it would ever wake, and then delighted in knowing it never would.

Except Phil. Phil had always been awake, and screaming. He'd just been too blind to see it.

He shook his head a little gently, before sitting up. He looked back up at the stars, and muttered ironically, "You gotta look up…" He sighed.

Maybe his mom was right. Yeah. But then, maybe she wasn't. Maybe it didn't matter. After all, his optimism had gotten him this far. It had kept him happy for years now, and kept him smiling even as life slapped him repeatedly in the face. If he could twist things around to keep the grin on his face for this long, well… how could that ever be bad?

What was one more lie, in an ocean of deceit?

Standing up, he walked to his window and leaned against the wall, gazing across the way at the window of his every nightmare. Then he closed the makeshift curtain and walked to his desk. There was only one thing he knew to do at a time like this. Only one thing that would set things to rights.

Sitting down slowly, the chair squeaking like a shaky welcome to his presence, he reached over and plucked a pen from a cup at the corner of his desk. A notepad was already in the center, tilted to the right, and he licked the tip of his pen a couple times without thought. And wrote.

_I fight a battle every day_  
><em>Against discouragement and fear;<em>  
><em>Some foe stands always in my way,<em>  
><em>The path ahead is never clear!<em>  
><em>I must forever be on guard<em>  
><em>Against the doubts that skulk along;<em>  
><em>I get ahead by fighting hard,<em>  
><em>But fighting keeps my spirit strong.<em>

_I hear the croakings of Despair,_  
><em>The dark predictions of the weak;<em>  
><em>I find myself pursued by Care,<em>  
><em>No matter what the end I seek;<em>  
><em>My victories are small and few,<em>  
><em>It matters not how hard I strive;<em>  
><em>Each day the fight begins anew,<em>  
><em>But fighting keeps my hopes alive.<em>

_My dreams are spoiled by circumstance,_  
><em>My plans are wrecked by Fate or Luck;<em>  
><em>Some hour, perhaps, will bring my chance,<em>  
><em>But that great hour has never struck;<em>  
><em>My progress has been slow and hard,<em>  
><em>I've had to climb and crawl and swim,<em>  
><em>Fighting for every stubborn yard,<em>  
><em>But I have kept in fighting trim.<em>

_I have to fight my doubts away,_  
><em>And be on guard against my fears;<em>  
><em>The feeble croaking of Dismay<em>  
><em>Has been familiar through the years;<em>  
><em>My dearest plans keep going wrong,<em>  
><em>Events combine to thwart my will,<em>  
><em>But fighting keeps my spirit strong,<em>  
><em>And I am undefeated still!<em>

Zack smiled quietly at his latest creation, feeling much more in tune with the madness that was his world. He closed his eyes against the now blank page of his emotions and sighed, giving it a moment to sink in. The blackness danced to a silent melody in the air that was all his own, a guilty pleasure that he always gave into in the end. Not paradise, but rightness, a feeling of complete peace. That was no longer a secret to just him.

His eyes opened then, clearer than before, and he plucked up a lighter from a small bowl on his desk. Clicking the flame to life, he ripped the page off and held it over a metal trashcan just beside his desk, and waved it over the corner of the paper.

As the rushed script was slowly eaten away to ashes by the flame, Zack let it fall away to the trash, atop a clump of blackened ash and crinkled tar.

Now, it was time to set Operation Kill Phil into motion.

After all, Phil didn't lie, it wasn't within his capability—he honestly thought he had nothing to hide. But if there was one thing Zack knew, it was that sometimes, honesty was the largest form of deceit it was possible to concoct. He was overlooking something. Everyone had a secret, something so huge and insurmountably horrible that even the secret holder had to make themselves oblivious to it just to function.

And Phil was hardly functional as is.

He smirked.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Oh, Zack, how you've inspired me... FOR ALMOST 100,000 WORDS. F U. MISS YOU I SHALL NOT. GET ALONG WITH ALL YOUR DANG ANGST. SO LONG, SUCKER. HALLE-FRICKIN-LUJAH.

Phil's chapter will take a while, 'kayz? I want to savor it. Savor it, and also, relax and take my time so it's right. I already have the plot lined out, his past is in place, characters fleshed, ending scene concepts done (they always seem to be the first I come up with XD), so... all that's left is outline and writing it. xD It's going to be AWWWESUM. *Squeaks and hugs keyboard* It will also be dedicated to **writergirl97** for all the fics she's written for Phil. :) I hope you guys like it! 'Cause it's already killing my soul. xD

Also, a bit of a heads up, I've got a lot of pics up of these guys on my dA page (which you can access from my profile), so if you ever wanna know what they legit look like, pop in over there. On top of that, **Panflawless** made a group for my story that's on there as well called "The Shortman Universe," which has other such fanart from peeps. X3 So if you like these guys and aren't on dA, you're missing out on a lot of stuff. XD

Thank you guys for taking the time to read Zack's story! :) "Shortman Secrets" is all about presenting the kids problems and inner-innerness, not fixing them, so I hope you weren't expecting August to show up out of the blue all, "Yo, bro, sup?" xDDD No, no... that's for the future. o_o OR IS IT—Okay, I'm done. xD

On another note, get used to Pam. She's gonna be around from henceforth. xD *Draws sword* TALLY HO!

On another other note—"ONCE UPON A TIME" TONIGHT. IT'S ON, IT'S GAME, IT'S HAPPENING, IT'S TONIGHT. _SO_ MY REWARD FOR MY WRITER PAINS. *Thanks God for perfect timing*

Later, comrades! I really hope you enjoyed my crap (even if just looking it over makes me want to hail a taxi to Hong Kong and never return). I'm really trying to keep positive here, I'm happy with at least a third of this. I _WILL_ improve. *Determined face* Bye for now, loves!

Takes a minute, means a lot, you've no idea the joy you've brought...

_**REVIEW!**_

If you actually do send one... thank you. :)


	15. Flood Watch: Part 1

**A/N: **Happy Halloween, guise! :B I'm a mad scientist today, got my black lab coat and crazy hair and everything, so... MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA—*Wheezes, snorts, takes breath*—HAHAHAHAHAHA~**  
><strong>

Enjoy... if you dare. }:)

**Disclaimer: **"HEY ARNOLD!" and all original characters pertaining to it do not belong to me. Zack, Phil, Amanda, Ham, and all unrecognizable characters are mine. Steal and _perish a horrible, unexplained death._**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Flood Watch<br>**

**Part 1  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Lightning struck true, cracking through the sky with a brilliant snap of light. And then darkness fell. More darkness, and more rain, pounding relentlessly on the small house hidden away in the woods, the sounds of fat globs of water slamming into the lake nearly deafening. The water sloshed and rolled, the grass cowering against the ground in the face of yet another of the universe's pompous displays of power.<p>

While the outside of the house was a disaster zone that stretched on for miles, the inside was dry and safe, the violent sounds of rain vague and the atmosphere peaceful save for the occasional roar of thunder. Inside of this house, Zachary Shortman walked hunched into the living room with a thick pink striped blanket thrown over his head and clenched in a fist below his chin, his blue eyes wide and glassy in the light of the candles spread generously across the room. He asked brittlely, "Is the flood watch over yet?"

The eleven-year-old brunette sprawled across the couch rolled his eyes at the question, setting his book down to throw the teen an annoyed look. "We're far a way's away from the actual flooding, it's just rain. Stop being so overdramatic. And take that blanket off your head, you look like an even bigger moron than usual."

Zack raised half his eyebrow at him, wisely choosing to keep his comments to himself. The power had gone off two hours prior, and that meant: no refrigeration, no lights, no computer, and most regretfully, no television. As in, absolutely nothing to defuse Phil should he go off into one of his cataclysmic rants, which he seemed close to wanting to do. He was grumpier than normal, on the verge of something annoying, and for once, Zack outright refused to be the one to set him off. So he just grinned kind of dazedly and nodded his head, not making a move to remove the blanket. "Right, you'll have to forgive me, my mind is going."

Phil just rolled his eyes again and shook his head, before going back to reading his book, apparently intent on ignoring him. Yet, Zack didn't like being ignored and found himself pursing his lips as he walked further into the room, closer to the young squirtling. The boy was clearly trying not to complain about the chill in the house but Zack could see him shivering, his acting never as good as he liked to think, so he smirked slightly and walked across the room to throw his blanket over top him with one fluid movement, though the heaviness of the blanket didn't allow it for a graceful landing. It plopped.

Phil screeched at the sudden weight and assault of stark blackness, his battering against the blanket making him look like a giant pink blob monster on the sofa. Zack couldn't help but burst into laughter, nearly falling on his backside on the coffee table. Well, that resolve to not set him off lasted all of five seconds. A new all time record. "Sorry!" he cried, holding his stomach as he bent over in hysterics. "Couldn't help it!"

Amanda chose that moment to wander into the room and the response was instantaneous. She screamed at the giant blob, the popcorn-filled bowl in her hand flying into the air. Arnold jumped in at that moment and snatched the bowl from the air, releasing a quick breath of relief before his eyes popped open at the sight of Phil throwing the blanket off of himself and across the room. Everything went in slow motion, Swan Lake playing loudly in the mental background as the flash of fluffy pink flew across the room, graceful and majestic in the dim, romantic atmosphere.

It caught easily on one of the many candles and promptly burst into flames. Everyone in the room screamed at this, and Phil threw himself over behind the couch with barely a thought, as if the wooden, highly flammable thing would offer any protection. The blanket was utterly inflamed, lighting up the entire room with it's brilliance as it shriveled up in a black mass, no doubt thinking about setting other things on fire as well. Although it did give them all a perfect view of each other's horror-stricken faces.

Everyone was too shocked to move so when the fire was suddenly obliterated by the aid of a thick white substance and the room went back to it's former dim atmosphere, the relief was almost enough to make everyone pass out.

The room was quiet for a moment, before Zack blurted, wasting no time, "What the hell was that?"

The fire extinguisher being thrown down with a loud clunk to the floor alerted everyone of a fifth presence, and they all snapped their eyes over to see Helga giving them all a rather grim look. "I leave for five minutes and you try to set the house on fire." She clenched her teeth, her eyes thickly glazed with the ruing. "Tell me we have popcorn."

Arnold still couldn't quite speak. He just held the bowl out so she could see, and she sighed. "Good."

Phil lifted his trembling body up from the floor with even shakier arms, and Zack threw him a look, gaining his wits back much faster than the rest of his family. "Philly, I'm surprised at you," he stated, his look mockingly scolding. "Why do you always have to be so dramatic? You nearly killed us all!"

Amanda shuddered, tripping over her words, "And it's raining outside!"

"Exactly, Faith," Zack acknowledged gently, before throwing his gaze back to the shivering, wide-eyed preteen. "Nearly killed us with fire in a flood watch, and all over a harmless little pink blanket. You are truly the master of chaos—"

"Moronic, pea-brained, ignoramus of a louse," Phil ground out in a harsh grumble beneath his breath, barely intelligible as he gave one last hard shudder with his fingers clenched tight in the fabric of the couch.

"This was your doing, Phil?" Helga asked with a hint of unmasked horror, sharing a brief look of trouble with her husband. He had been a very difficult toddler and had proven to be just as difficult in his preteen years—they'd made sure to keep sharp things locked up and out of sight to him, given him a fork with especially blunt ends, kept all of her romance novels locked away in their room even, just for the sake of keeping everyone safe from unintentional… accidents. But they'd never thought of him being a fire hazard before.

Phil snapped his large jellybean eyes on her though and shook his head, his finger going with startling speed in the direction of Zack. "No! He threw a blanket over my head and blinded me!"

"Zack," Helga groaned, exasperatedly throwing her head back as she sagged against the doorway, "you know how your brother gets."

"He was shivering," Zack said in self-defense, his eyes going wide with feigned concern and sorrow for his brother's welfare. Though feigned at the moment, he had been legitimately concerned and thought he could have some fun with it—he just hadn't expected him to try to turn them all to ashes. "Would you rather I allowed him to freeze?"

"You could have just asked me," Phil yelled, shooting a glare at him.

"You would have rejected it and said something about it being tainted with my germs."

"I would not have—" Phil tried to deny, but Zack smirked at him and cut him off swiftly with a, "Totally would have."

"Would not!"

"Would so."

"Would not!"

"Would _so_."

"_Would not_!"

"Would so. You know I can go on all day, right—"

"Okay, that's it," Arnold yelled, walking over to set the popcorn on the coffee table. He placed his fists on his sides and glared at them firmly, using his height and more built, adult stature to gain some control over the two. He could completely understand why Helga felt the need to intimidate people when they were kids now, because this was one of his only tools in being able to reign in these kids and keep them from killing each other. "Enough fighting. There's a storm outside, the power's out for we-don't-know-how-long, and we have to wait it out. We're doing this as a family. No exceptions, no yelling, and no fires." He sighed with his eyes to the ceiling.

Zack laughed a little lightly, settling himself down on the couch. "I might have to leave then, I'm too hot for you guys."

Helga snorted, walking over to behind the couch to ruffle up his hair with an amused quirk of her mouth. "_Really_? That's a bet even I'd wager against, Hair Boy."

Before Zack could shoot something back at her, an elderly voice called out from the hall, "Do I smell barbecue?"

Grandpa Phil walked into the room then, holding up a lantern and squinting to see their faces in the faint light from afar.

His wife and him had come down for a visit as a little vacation away from the inane and tiring escapades of the boarders, his son and daughter-in-law more than happily taking the reigns for a day, as the two ancients were both eager for a day away from the crazies to go visit some different, relative crazies.

The sudden flooding had been unexpected, and they were worried about how the boarding house was faring now in the storm, but there was no means of communication and his grandson and granddaughter-in-law hadn't had the presence of mind to keep a giant inflatable boat in their attic (he deflected their arguments that they lived on an upper slate and didn't have to worry about flooding—always be prepared for a curveball, his father always said, before diplomatically stating, "And never eat raspberries.")

The old man lifted the lantern closer as he wandered farther into the room, scratching his head with his free hand as he asked, "Now what in the Sam Hill happened here?" After eyeing the scorched and still smoking black mass in the middle of the room, his eyes went instinctively to his protégé.

Young Phil standing against the back of the couch immediately averted his gaze downward, and Grandpa tut tutted him, shaking his head.

"Who wants marshmallows?" Gertie popped out from behind him with a toothy grin, holding out a big bag of the little white devils and a couple of wooden skewers, and Phil could have kissed his wife right then for stealing them out of the cabinets this morning despite his scolding her to put them back. Always be prepared, he thought with a grin.

* * *

><p>"I still say that ghost story Gerald likes to tell is a bunch of malarkey," Zack mumbled, twisting the marshmallow-clad stick around in his hand over the scorching hot pink shrivel with his head rested in his hand.<p>

Arnold chuckled from his position on the couch, his arm slung around Helga as she leaned tiredly against him. "He swore he looked him right in the eye. He woke everyone with his screaming, and refused to go back to sleep for the rest of the night. I've got to say, he had me convinced."

Zack rolled his eyes. "He was half-asleep. He wasn't in his right mind. He was probably just half sleep walking or something and was hallucinating."

Arnold just shrugged. "He insisted. He still does to this day."

"Of course he does," Zack droned in a deep voice, tapping his fingers against his cheek.

Arnold chuckled again, resting his chin on Helga's head and grinning at his son a bit secretively. "Always try to stay open minded, Zack. You never know."

"That's the exact problem I have. You never know." Zack crossed his eyes a second with his brow furrowed before he just sighed. "I want to know _for sure_. There's too much gray to sort through."

"I think you should just shut up," Phil groaned from beside him, flipping his brown hair out of his eyes so he could properly glare at him. "Who cares if they exist or don't exist? You just said it yourself—there's no way of knowing, and even if we did have a way, would it really change anything? I hate it when you argue about pointless topics! It's nothing more than an excuse to waste away the brain cells of those around you! I've had to sit here and listen to you drone on and on about this for _hours_—"

"It's been five minutes—"

"—_it seems_," Phil finished with a snap of his jaw, like a rowdy alligator. "You might as well argue about whether or not the Milky Way is located between Milk and Cookies or Chocolate Cake and Mint. Why argue about such miniscule details of life, nay, the _afterlife_, when the outcome of said argument wouldn't even affect you? Moreover why argue about whether or not ghosts exist if you're so sure that they do not? Should this no longer tickle your interest to even bring up considering you have already reached a sure conclusion? You are nothing more than a weak-minded dolt who seeks self-gratification through vain attempts at changing the opinion of others—yes, _opinion_, because there is no actual proof or irreversible facts to present to the argument that should ever prove a winner in your sick, egotistical game! There is no _point_!"

Everyone stared at the heavily breathing boy with eyes that had only grown a fraction whereas his had gone practically otherworldly, and they all waited patiently for him to calm down a bit and his eyes to return to normal before Zack just shrugged and said carelessly, "It keeps the mind sharp."

"Well, play chess!" Phil yelled, turning away from him to pout in a corner.

Zack blinked at him a couple times, before he turned his sights back to his family and grinned crookedly. "Topic change then?"

"Oh, I don't know," Grandpa snickered, his eyes twinkling, "I kind of liked the idea of a few ghost stories."

Lightning roared suddenly, causing Amanda to grin and Phil to yelp and cling to Zack's side. Zack only just managed to keep himself from bursting into laughter, his face strained.

"No ghost, no ghost stories," Phil growled in stutters, his teeth chattering.

Grandpa hummed in disapproval at his heir's stick-in-the-mud attitude and chuckled a little. "Not even if you got to tell the first one, young Philly—um, cheesesteak was it?"

"That's the one!" Zack chirped brightly, practically lighting up the room with his beaming grin.

Phil immediately shoved away from his older brother in disgust. "I thought I made it perfectly clear I never wanted to hear that foul name again!" He threw his arms up over his head as another roar of thunder sounded, and he growled. His mood swings often did seem to sync up with the weather, and everyone knew that if it was sunny out he wouldn't be nearly as irritable. Thankfully his eyes lit up, though, and he snapped his eyes over to his great-grandfathers in intrigue. "Wait, I get to tell the first one?"

"You got it!" Grandpa Phil swung his fist in the air with a grin, making Arnold have to swerve out of the way on instinct.

"Hmmm…" Phil mulled this over, his eyes wandering away as he tapped his chin.

Gertie pranced into the room then with a fresh bowl of popcorn, and sat it down on the sofa before saddling up beside the young brunette, her hand going to rest on his shoulder as she smiled at him kindly. "Well go on, Colonel, the sky's the limit with a good horror story!"

"Horror stories are for masochists," Phil said bluntly, his eyes devoid of emotion. A sinful smile spread slowly across his face then, and he turned his devious eyes on Amanda across the room, who did nothing but blink innocently at him. "But I would _relish_ in the chance at scaring Amanda spineless."

Amanda giggled, setting her head on the coffee table over her fingers, her gumdrop eyes large as they gazed up at the ill-intended face of her brother. "I love ghost stories!"

"You love everything," Phil snapped at her, irritated. "Stop loving _everything_! It's okay to hate!"

"No it's not." Amanda's soft gaze turned a bit firmer, though she never wanted to start an argument with her loved ones, so she left it at that. Her face turned sweet again. "But if you want, I'll pretend I'm scared if it'll make you happy."

Phil's eye twitched.

"Did I miss anything?"

All eyes went up to see the large outline of Ham in the doorway, his tan face looking almost ethereal in the glow of the candles.

"_Criminy_, Josh, brilliant timing as per usual," Zack drawled, grinning with silvery amusement.

Ham took in the sight of his family sitting in a cult-looking room filled with dozens of candles and all of them sitting around a charred pink mass of smoke and ashes with marshmallows held over on sticks, and almost immediately felt the urge to go back up to his room and take a nap. Instead he sighed and walked over to take a seat on the couch, only to have his butt come in contact with something strange, round, and crunchy. Snapping upright, he looked down to see he'd sat in popcorn and resisted the urge to groan.

Arnold just chuckled and took the bowl away from his seat, patting it for him to sit down again. "Ham, I was wondering where you were. What have you been up to?"

Ham offered no words, simply held up his iPod. Arnold seemed to understand and he nodded his head, but Helga just gripped his shirt in her hand and closed her eyes, releasing a huff of breath.

"Well—" Amanda started enthusiastically to list off all that had occurred, but Ham quickly held his hand up to shush her and sighed. "Never mind, Faith. I don't want to know."

"Aw, such a party pooper," Zack pouted jokingly. Grabbing his marshmallow off of his stick, he eyed his handy work, his eyes shifting from it to the corner of his eye to peek amusedly at Ham. "All we've been doing is sitting around a nice campblanket, and Phil was just about to tell us a ghost story." Snatching Phil to him with an arm around his shoulders, Zack grinned. "Weren't ya, Philly?"

Phil humphed, his arms battling against Zack's side as he attempted to gain freedom. "Let go! I didn't say I was doing anything!"

Zack gasped and immediately let go of Phil, just as he'd raised his leg up to kick away and instead ended up falling straight away to the floor. Zack just looked down at him in mock shock. "_No ghost stories_?" He smirked. "Well then I guess I'll just have to go first." Clearing his throat with a fist to his mouth, Zack opened his mouth wide to begin when Phil suddenly shot up and slapped a hand over his mouth, scowling fiercely.

Realizing himself, Phil let go of his face quick and huffed, smoothing his hair back down over one eye and straightening himself, his face going blank. "That won't be necessary."

Helga sat up from Arnold's chest and cracked her neck, her eyes more alert than before. She didn't want to miss a second of this. Chuckling a tad darkly, she leaned over into Phil's face, her hair casting shadows across her white face as her eyes practically glowed with mischief. "Going to scare the last hints of daylight out of the room, are ya, darling?"

Phil pouted at her, his arms crossed. Suddenly his face lip up and he smirked. "You just wait, Mom. You won't have teeth to talk with after I'm done. They'll have all run away from the abuse."

Zack burst out in a buzzing noise. "Bad joke alert! Bad joke alert!"

"Who says it was a joke?" Phil asked him calmly, his face still smirking. "If anyone knows true horror, what _really_ keeps little kids up late at night crying for their moms, it's me."

"Mm, true," Zack agreed thoughtfully, his thumb going over his chin in contemplation. "You are the Family Coward—"

"I am no such thing!" Phil screeched, making everyone's eyes dilate and cringe. Jumping up on the coffee table, Phil pointed a finger dramatically in the air and shouted, "Prepare to have to change your pants!"

Gertie raised her skewer in the air like a sword beside him, the marshmallow dripping gooily from the end, and yelled, "Yes! Listen up, peasants, his highness has a bit of wisdom to bestow upon you!"

Phil blinked a second, surprised, before he grinned, his finger snapping to point at her. "What Grandma said!"

* * *

><p>Lightning struck fierce above the spiking, sharp towers of Phillipstein's castle, it's light traveling deep into every dark crevice of it's stonework, revealing hidden spiders with twelve legs and mice with extra tails, all scurrying away in fear as the accompanying thunder struck true.<p>

Deep in the tallest tower of the teetering fortress, Phillipstein was hard at work. Tying off beams into their correct locations and sticking bubble gum where it was needed, Phillipstein yelled for his assistant, "Mandagor!"

At his screech a small, hunch-backed blonde came prancing into the room, a tray of cookies in her hands. "Cookie, Master?" Mandagor beamed, offering the tray up to him.

Phillipstein huffed. "No I don't want your stupid—wait, are those chocolate chips?" Intrigued, Phil grabbed one up from the tray and took a bite. Humming, his eyes suddenly popped open and he spat it out, holding the cookie away from himself in offense. "_Raspberries_? You're feeding me dried Ogre spit?" Throwing the cookie at her, he turned back around to his controls and began hitting buttons, frustration creasing his brow. "Trying to poison me! My own igor, _poisoning me_!" Phillipstein raged, slamming his arms down across the table and setting a bunch of buttons aflame with blinking lights and red flashes.

Mandagor merely blinked, her eyes averting down to gaze confusedly at her cookies. "Raspberries are good for your health, though, sir. You desperately need to have more fruit in your diet, all you eat is dry toast and eggs nowadays. And you're always so…" her voice went meek, choosing her words carefully, "stressed. I can't let you get an ulcer."

"Maybe I want an ulcer!" Phillipstein's voice boomed, echoing across the walls as he flew around to raise his arms in the air furiously, lightning striking at that moment and illuminating his form. "Did you ever think of that, Miss Know-It-All? Perhaps I would rather die at my own hand than at the juice of some poisonous leech?" Growling, he snapped back around to the controls and pressed a few more buttons into place, before turning back around and grinning with evil abandon. "We're finally ready, Mandagor…"

Mandagor's eyes widened. "Ready for—"

"The Switch!" Phillipstein burst, lightning striking once more and making his mad form look inflamed with it's sheer intensity.

Mandagor huffed, throwing her hip out to put a stained green hand on it and scold, "Stop doing that, you know that effect costs you five gold pieces an hour. If this insane scheme doesn't work, we'll never see that money back—"

"Silence, Mandagor!" Phillipstein yelled, shooting his hand out to point to _The Switch_. "Just do your job and pull the stinking switch already! Criminy, it's true what they say about good help—"

Mandagor sighed and shoved her tray into his hands. "I'm going, I'm going, just be patient." As she took the three steps over to grab hold of the giant handle of _The Switch_, organ music suddenly blared in the background, catching her off guard. Her master suddenly burst into maniacal laughter behind her, and her eyes narrowed. She turned around to glare at him. "Oh, and what is that effect costing us, huh?"

"Shut up and pull!" Phillipstein raged, clenching his white-gloved hands at his sides.

Mandagor resisted rolling her eyes and grabbed both of her petite hands over the lever, using all of her weight to pull it down, heaving herself up and down to give it more force until it finally hit the breaker and electricity zinged across the room, lightning flashing outside the stoney windows and the organ music deafening. Phillipstein laughed.

Suddenly, all the lamps clicked on, lighting up the once shadowy room. The organ music immediately groaned to a stop and Phillipstein's eyes bugged out.

Mandagor blinked, and jumped down from the lever to glance about the room in awe. "Oh my. It was a light switch." Her eyes snapped to Phillipstein and she giggled. "You must have attached the wrong wires!" A little ding rang in the room, and Mandagor clapped her hands giddily. "And my raspberry tarts are done!"

Phillipstein's eye twitched.

Mandagor wandered over to the actual light switch by all the blinking lights and buttons and laughed, placing her finger over it. "I bet it still works."

Phillipstein snapped out of his stupor just enough to scoff at her and grumble, "That would never work, I'll have to rewire everything again before—"

She flipped the switch, and all the light bulbs on the walls exploded into shards of thin glass, electricity flying across the room in waves and making their hair stand on end. The mass in pink on the table across the room twitched, and they both gasped as it suddenly threw the blanket off of itself with a force strong enough to slash a deep dent in the stone walls.

"It's…" Phillipstein gasped, looking faint.

"It's…" Mandagor practically squealed with excitement.

They both screamed at the same time, one terrified and the other delighted, "_Alive_!"

The monster towered over them in bleary-eyed fascination, it's blue eyes foggy in the dim lighting of the castle and body covered in a black trench coat the evil scientist had thrown over it to hide the horror of it's grotesque, rotting body. A patch of stitches went straight across it's melting face, it's arms uneven and hands two different sizes. It's hair went straight up in a crazy blond mess from the electricity still thick in the air, and it blinked down at them. A moment passed where the room was still and Mandagor and Phillipstein held their breaths, when suddenly the monster grinned crookedly and crossed it's arms. "Criminy, what kind of a welcome party is this? No balloons, no snacks, nothing? A monster creation like me doesn't just come around every day you know! Have a little enthusiasm!" It smirked.

"Huh—" Phillipstein squinted his eyes at him in baffled shock, before Mandagor squealed and grabbed the monster by both it's hands, leading it over to the table of buttons across the room where the cookie tray was sitting. "Oh, we're terribly sorry, Mr. Monster," she apologized sweetly. "We don't have something like this happening too often. We weren't sure how to prepare."

"_Please_," the monster chuckled, rolling it's eyes good-naturedly, "Mr. Monster was my father. Call me Zachary."

"Okay, Mr. Zachary." Mandagor beamed, letting go of it's hands to grab the tray from the table and offer it up to the abomination. "Raspberry cookie?"

Zachary eyed the tray with a hint of strangeness in it's face, before it just grinned a little nervously and chuckled. "Nah, thanks, I'm good. I can't eat anything but raw flesh after nine o' clock. Anything else gives me a stomach ache." It chuckled again. "You know how it is."

A frown touched Mandagor's face, but she wiped it away easily enough and sat the tray back down, clasping her hands together as she gazed up at the monster in awe. "We may have some lemonade, newt eye, and frog toe in the refrigerator downstairs if you'd like. Also some leftover hearts that didn't take." She smiled wide.

Zachary's eyes lit up but before it could respond, Phillipstein crashed into their conversation, stomping over towards them with a scowl, "Hold on just a second! Nobody is eating anything but townspeople tonight! And that's final! Stop with this idle chatter and get out there and terrorize people!" Phillipstein pointed angrily at the door.

Zachary just shrugged. "Whatever, bro. It's your story." Eyeing him up and down with eyes sharp as led and yellow as the cheese laid out in the mousetraps across the room, the monster asked, "But why do you want to terrorize townspeople? What did they ever do to you?"

"Don't question me…" Phillipstein scolded skeptically, eyeing him with disdain. "I created you for destruction! Now go out there and destrucify!"

"That doesn't even sound like a word—"

"Silence, igor!"

"You know," Zachary broke into the fighting, leaning against the control panel on an oversized hand, "I don't know if I'm really the 'terrorize the townspeople,' 'tear down buildings and breathe fire' kind of guy… Why didn't you just find a dragon or some other mystical being to do your dirty work?"

"Wrong era," Phillipstein said dryly. "All the dragons have long evolved into geckos and seem to be forming some kind of carriage insurance agency. But that isn't the point!" Phillipstein poked the Zachary monster in it's stomach, his eyebrows furrowed dangerously. "You _are_ the type to terrorize and destroy! I designed you specifically for it! And I know you're not malfunctioning because you've only been here five minutes and you've already given me a raging headache." He rubbed his temples. "You were _born_ for this."

Zachary chuckled. "Hey, whatever you say, little man, but look at me. I've got free will, don't I?"

"A fatal error I will not be making again—"

"I can move my legs, my arms, I have a fully functioning brain." Zachary twisted it's arms about, when suddenly a hand fell out of it's socket and the monster quickly screwed it back into place with a laugh. "Maybe not fully functioning everything mind you, but I can think. And I'm not too sure this is a very good idea."

"Good idea—" Phillipstein nearly raged.

"Hey now, Junior, hold your horses." Zachary placed a hand on his head to keep it from shooting off like a steam whistle and grinned down at him humorously. "Maybe I would be more obliged to go along with your crazy scheme if I knew what this was all about? I'm all for a little payback if you've been wronged or something."

"Wronged," Phillipstein spat, his chest heaving and eyes bitter, "Such a weak word for the injustice I've seen."

Mandagor sighed, "Here we go."

Phillipstein threw his finger up in the air, causing Zachary's hand to fall away in surprise at the melodramatic action, and he shouted to the Heavens, lightning flashing overhead, "They banished me for wrecking the Fall Festival!" The organ music blared again twice in dramatics.

The room fell silent then for a few moments, before Zachary threw it's eyes over to Mandagor and asked, "What the hell is that?"

Mandagor smiled kindly. "The Fall Festival is a traditional party they do every year for newly betrothed couples and young teens looking for love. Everyone is entitled to go, but Master refused and instead destroyed the party in a huge fit. They cast him out because of it." Mandagor sighed. "And me."

Zachary looked at her in concern. "Why you? You're so nice."

Mandagor lit up at the compliment, before she frowned and looked down in shame, kicking some dirt away with her foot. "I helped."

Zachary did a double take of her in shock. "You? But why?"

She smiled a tad sheepishly. "I was betrothed to the town huntsman and I hated him. He was a real jerk, so when Phillipstein started throwing food around and smashing tables, I sort of joined in." She coughed awkwardly, shuffling her feet.

"Betrothed? But I thought you were an igor?"

Mandagor giggled, standing up straight so the sack of flour could fall out from her back, before rubbing off some of the green on her hand to reveal pale skin. She shook her head at him with a grin. "It's all just for show. Phillipstein does love his theatrics."

Zachary blinked. "Wow." It's face suddenly split open in a grin filled with mismatched yellow teeth and wolf's fangs. "A big party then, huh? With ladies? That sounds like fun!"

"Fun," Phillipstein growled out in a yelp, his eyes popping open in outrage. "You call the central point of all evil in the universe _fun_?"

Phillipstein took a few heavy steps towards Zachary, and Zachary blinked it's yellow eyes at him in surprise as he suddenly jumped up and grabbed it by it's collar, pulling it down to growl, "Let me tell you a little thing about _love_, you newborn twit. The life of the regular town fool is to be born, married off, thrown into a meaningless career, have a couple kids, and then to die while the cycle just starts over again in it's monotonous circle, over and over and over again while the world rots away into nothingness! There is no progress, there is no life! There is nothing but foolhardiness and dim-witted, hopeless idiots who are completely content to know nothing of the world outside of their own! Well they may be happy in that meager existence but I have better things to do than be paired off with some eyelash fluttering, giggly, frilly little priss! Love is nothing more than fabricated nonsense designed to keep the masses busy while the gods play chess with our heads!"

Zachary looked at him as if he were the mismatched, deformed monster of the two of them. "Oh please, do you think I was born yesterday?"

"No, I think you were born twenty minutes ago!"

"Be that as it may, just based off common sense, I do know a few things, and that is that love can never be a bad thing."

Phillipstein scoffed, turning his back on him as he glared into the darkness. He grumbled harshly, "Try getting your heart broken. See how you feel then, idiot." Turning back around with a fist pounding into his chest, Phillipstein yelled, "They all called me crazy for thinking different! They cast me out for trying to save their souls and threatened to hang me! Now there's been a bunch of idiots out there with pitch forks and torches calling me a grave robber and mad man!" He laughed maniacally, throwing his head back as the organ blared. "_Well who's crazy now, huh_? I created _life_!"

"Still you, crazy."

Phillipstein sputtered to a stop, the organ exploding at the back of the room as he suddenly yelled, "I am not!"

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"_I am not_!"

"Oh-ho, but Phillystein," Zachary smirked, leaning it's hulking body over to stare closer down at him, "you are so."

Phillipstein huffed, holding his arms out to his creation with sneering lips and flat eyes. "Do I _look_ crazy to you?"

"No, you look perfectly normal." Zachary cackled. "But all the psychopaths do."

Phillipstein growled, slapping himself in the forehead. "I have truly created a monster." His arm shot out almost sharp enough to break space, pointing towards the door one last time in a no-nonsense manner, his eyes deadly. "_Go_."

"Okay." Zachary grinned goofily, shaking the castle with it's steps as it headed towards the door, and soon out of the castle towards the village.

Mandagor watched the friendly monster out the window in worry, visible even from several miles out, before she turned her eyes on her master, truly frightened for the first time in weeks. "Do you think everything will be okay?"

"Oh no," Phillipstein grinned evilly, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "they most certainly will not be." Lightning struck.

"_Five gold coins_—"

"Shut up."

* * *

><p>"Where is that moron?" a voice roared from down the hall, crashing Mandagor's house of cards into a hill. She huffed, throwing her head into her hand as her other tapped testily against the table.<p>

Her master predictably burst in a second later, his hair and eyes wild. "Where is the dunderhead? Why can't I see the flames of the village and screams of the townspeople yet? It's been hours!"

"Do I look like I know?" Mandagor slammed her fist down on the table, her patience trickling down to it's last few grains with her 'master.'

Phillipstein eyed her distastefully, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Well, I don't know, Mandagor, you _usually_know everything." He turned his back on her, throwing his arms in the air. "But what do I know? I'm only an evil genius!"

"You're an evil pain in the neck—"

"What was that?" He snapped around to her with murderous eyes.

Mandagor fluttered her eyes away. "Nothing, Master."

Phillipstein humphed at her, rolling up the sleeves of his lab coat as he walked over to look out the window of the tower once more. Still, he could see the village, but no explosions or bloody carcasses being thrown into heaps. Instead there were bright, colorful lights and the faint sound of music and laughter. It was horrible.

Phillipstein stared forlornly for a few more minutes, while Mandagor attempted to salvage her house of cards, when he suddenly pivoted around, shouting loud enough to echo off the walls and destroy Mandagor's house again, "That's it! We are going down there!"

Mandagor's frustrated eyes suddenly lit up, and she clasped her hands together excitedly. "Oh my gosh! Really?"

Phillipstein's rigid body twitched at the unmasked enthusiasm in her voice, and his face fell flat. He rolled his eyes. "Yes, really."

Mandagor squealed, dancing and twirling around the room and leaving Phillipstein to clench his teeth and seriously question his life.

* * *

><p>"So then I said, 'Babe, if you liked it so much, <em>you<em> should'a told me to put a ring on it. I'm a horrible abomination of nature, not a witch! I can't read minds!' " Everyone burst into laughter along with Zachary, all the girls swooning behind it, when a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed the sleeve of it's trench coat, pulling it to a more remote spot of the party.

Zachary blinked in confusion at being pulled away from it's adoring crowd, when it suddenly felt a hand latch onto it's collar and pull it down to stare into two furious green eyes.

Phillipstein, dressed in a cloak with a mass of goat fur covering his brown hair and hanging from his lip in a mustache, bared his teeth in his monster's face. "What are you doing? This doesn't look like mass murder!" he hissed.

Zachary's eyes lit up at seeing it's creator and it grabbed Phillipstein off of the ground, swinging him in the air. "Phillystein! You made it!"

Phillipstein screeched, slapping furiously at the monster's arms to the point they suddenly fell off of it's body and he crashed into the ground on top of the limbs.

Groaning, Phillipstein sat up, putting a hand to his head to try to rub away an ache. It took him a second more to realize it wasn't _his_ hand, and his eyes popped open to see that he was still gripping onto the hairy green limb that had grabbed him. Throwing it down in shock, he screamed and went scurrying backwards on the ground.

Zachary eyed it's limbless torso with amusement. "Could you have designed this any more crummy?" It caught sight of Phillipstein backing away then and blinked, walking after him. "Hey, wait, little guy, I could use some help!"

Phillipstein scrambled up from the ground, adjusting his mustache quick before yelling in a hush, "You don't deserve help!" Half his mustache fell. "I send you down here to wreak havoc and here all this time you've been cajoling with the lollygaggers?"

"I've been whating with the huhs?" Zachary raised half an eyebrow. It chuckled, amused with it's tiny master's antics. "Nah, little man, I was just having a good time." It grinned. "These guys are cool. I mean," it swung it's torso to the right, the long black sleeves of it's trench coat swinging in the direction of it's fan club, "I was going to destroy them, but then they had this limbo competition, and I couldn't pass it up! I detached my legs down to nubs and completely swamped them, and I guess they liked it 'cause suddenly there were a bunch of girls falling all over me, and then, well," it smirked, "I couldn't destroy them _then_. They're my friends."

"Friends?" Phillipstein raged, forgetting himself, and grabbed it by the lapels of it's coat. "They're not your friends! You are a _monster_! Have you seen yourself?"

Zachary smirked in his face, further enraging it's tiny creator. "You really shouldn't let your appearance define yourself, you know. It'll hold you back in so many respects."

Phillipstein shoved away from him, disgusted. "Idiot!"

"Hey, Zachary," one of the village men came up to put a hand on it's shoulder protectively, his skin dark and hair pitch black as he stared down at Phillipstein with a hint of warning, "is this little old man bothering you?"

Zachary smiled at him serenely. "Nah, Jaronimus, we were just having a little discussion. Hey, could you get my arms?" It gestured with it's head to the two mismatched, discolored arms on the ground.

"Sure, buddy," Jaronimus said kindly, picking the limbs up from the ground and putting them under his arm. He glared at Phillipstein then. "I trust you won't be bothering Zachary here again." It wasn't a question.

Phillipstein gaped at this man's audacity for daring threaten him away from his own abomination. He scowled then, his eyebrows furrowing down sharply as he took a tense step towards the two respective freaks. "Now you see here, you ignorant gnat—" His mustache fell off.

The room exploded in screams, women fainting, children heading for the hills and punch and food flying across the room from shaky, panicked hands. "Phillipstein!" Jaronimus screamed, his face going as white as the full moon overhead.

"Nobody panic!" the town butcher cried bravely from the wooden stage across the room, gripping tight to a rope with his lemon-shaped face handsome and tan in the light. All the ladies in the room had to immediately fan themselves as he flew across the room by rope and kicked Phillipstein in the chest, propelling him across the room to slam into the wall. Joshua threw the rope away and sat his fists on his hips, glaring down at Phillipstein's dazed face, the goat fur laying somewhere across the room now and his cloak's hood fallen down to reveal his messy brown hair. "You're not welcome here, beast! We thought we made it perfectly clear the first time! Give us one good reason we shouldn't hang you as a witch now!"

"Because I'm not a witch?" was all he could manage from his spinning head.

A mass of brown hair and green cloth could be seen soaring across the sky moments later, a deafening scream waking up half the village.

Joshua yelled after him angrily, "And don't ever come back!" He slammed the doors shut.

Zachary laughed at this unexpected outcome to the night, a girl on each arm as it gazed out the window. "You think you know a person." It shook it's head, smirking devilishly at the raven and redheaded beauties on his arms. "Shall we be off, ladies?"

Sophia giggled, leaning further into the monster's chest as she nodded her head, while meanwhile Pamella was still attempting to figure out how to dislodge his arm again so she could escape. Finally after another minute's worth of struggle, the ginger-haired sweetheart sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, why not?"

The three walked off back into the party, the building exploding in cheers as the music started back up ten times louder than before.

Meanwhile Phillipstein was attempting to pull his head out of a gopher hole, groaning and growling for a few minutes before a gopher suddenly latched onto his nose and he yelped. In a burst of pure adrenaline, he forced his head out of the hole and batted the furry little thing off of his nose, shuddering as it went scurrying back into it's burrow. "Disease infested rodent!" Growling, his fury catching up with him, Phillipstein threw his head back and roared, "_Mandagor_!"

"What?" Mandagor appeared beside him, blinking her wide eyes in confusion. "Did things not go well?" She giggled, her tone going a bit playfully sarcastic as she leaned down to look at him, "How surprising."

The mad man's breath came out in a harsh gasp, wondering why he even yelled for her if she was going to be like this. His eyes widened then, and he eyed her with his own special brand of evil genius bafflement. "Wait a second, how did you get out here so fast? Weren't you at the festival?"

Mandagor rolled her eyes with a smile at the assumption, standing back up straight to cross her arms. "Of course not. We were banished. That would be against the rules. I just wanted to get out of that dreary castle for once." Her face tinted with blush suddenly as a male voice called behind her, and she wrapped her hands behind her back. "Oh, and I might have to give my two weeks notice two weeks early, too."

Phillipstein's eyes widened. "What?"

Christian, the freshly declared barbarian, came stumbling over to stand beside her, adorning animal pelts of all furs wrapped proudly around his body. He grabbed her hand, grinning as she smiled shyly back. Mandagor explained sheepishly, "Christian got himself banished so we could be together, and he apologized for stinking so bad, so we've decided to betroth ourselves to each other again."

"You what?" Phillipstein's pupils dilated. "I thought you hated each other!"

"I never hated Manda," Christian spoke for the first time, sticking his tongue out at the genius, not the least bit afraid despite his title as mad man. He threw a possessive arm around the shorter girl, grinning in pride. "I was just fakin' it to be a jerk."

'mandagor giggled, her face flushing. "You were such a doody head."

"You were a bigger one," he said affectionately.

The newly engaged couple walked away without a thought more, too lost in their conversation to remember Phillipstein existed, let alone that he had essentially just fallen back into the dirt and was staring vaguely upward through eyes shot through with veins.

At that moment, only one coherent thought managed to form in his head. "Criminy."

* * *

><p>"And they all lived happily ever after," Phil despaired, hanging his head.<p>

Everyone blinked.

"Uh, Phil," his father asked carefully, bemused, "what's so bad about that?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Phil asked with dreadful eyes, falling to his knees before the coffee table. "They _lived_!" He threw his head down to clunk against the woodwork of the small table, keeping it there.

Everyone exchanged wary glances, some warier than others, while Gertie just grinned spiritedly in her seat on the floor beside her husband, bursting into raucous applause. "Bravo! Bravo! Bellissimo! Encore, encore!" She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

Phil burst up from the floor to fall into a bow. "Thank you! I'll be here all week—heck, I'll be here until I'm eighteen."

"Thirty-five," Helga scolded him. He was not getting out of here so easily.

Phil cast her a flat look. "Right, Mom."

"No," Amanda's voice suddenly came slowly from her perch in the corner of the room, her eyebrows slowly furrowing downward, "you married me off with _Chris_?"

Phil threw a secretive smirk in her direction, before he turned his head back around so he still wasn't facing her and pulled his sleeves down a bit more to compensate for the chill in the house. "I don't know what you're talking about, Amanda. You weren't anywhere in my story."

"Yes I was!" Amanda glared at him, her tiny fists clenching at her sides on the chair, and both Arnold and Helga had to resist cooing at how adorable she looked trying to be tough. "I'm not dumb! I was in it, Zack was obviously in it, you were the main character, and Ham was in it too! The only people you excluded were Mom and Dad!"

"I figured they were the lords over the land," Phil stated listlessly, merely stating facts and not even denying his inclusion of their family members in his tale. "And really, why would they bother going to a stupid little festival when they could be having feasts?"

"Because we like to party hard?" Helga threw out there with a shrug, Arnold rolling his eyes behind her. He added, humoring her, "Yeah, gotta have some way to melt the pounds off with all that food."

The two burst into snickers, Helga with a hand to her mouth and Arnold trying to hide it behind the fabric of his sweatshirt.

Phil blinked at them, rather blasé at the moment, and Zack couldn't resist muttering beneath his breath, "Like you rabbits would ever have a problem with that."

Helga snapped her head to him suddenly, and Arnold stopped laughing. Helga asked severely, "What was that, Zachary?"

Zack fluttered his eyelashes at them, making his eyes wide in angelic innocence. "Nothing, Mother Dearest."

Helga hummed at him lowly beneath her breath, keeping an eye on him. "Right, that's what I like to hear." She fell back into the couch then beside Arnold with her arms crossed, and her husband chuckled, somehow finding it more amusing when Zack was annoying her than when it was him. Grandpa meanwhile shared a conspiratorial grin with the teenager.

"Well," Phil went on to say after a few moments, deciding this wasn't entertaining anymore, "I think my story was great."

"It wasn't even a ghost story," Amanda said with a firm frown.

"I'm just disappointed you didn't go with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," Zack muttered, regarding Phil with his eyebrow high.

"Why?" Phil asked blandly, going over to reclaim his chair beside his brother.

"Because it's so _you_! Much more you than Frankenstein. He's too…" he clicked his tongue, searching for a good way to phrase his point, "consistently hysterical." He chuckled. "And I swear sometimes you have multiple personality syndrome."

Before Phil could respond, Amanda suddenly stood up from her chair and walked to the center of the room, the coffee table before her as she looked with a blank mask in Phil's direction. Then Zack's. "You want Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?" She smiled sweetly, dividing the look between her family members before resting on Phil's suspicious face. "I'd be more than happy to tell it." She giggled.

Lightning cracked.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Dun dun DUUUUUUN

Well, I hope you enjoyed the first segment here. This'll probably go up to three parts, four at most. I'll try to get the next one up before Thanksgiving... uh... When's Thanksgiving again? xD Well, happy Halloween all the same, guys! :D Have a spooky one! And try not to die. Jack O' Lantern roams about this time of night, you know. He gets kicked out of hell a lot... That's rough. XD

Don't forget to go on History dot com and look up the history of Halloween. I do it every year, 'cause I'm a nerd. xD Just don't go wandering off alone, you may get stuck in the afterlife, and beware of crazy cat ladies. But most of all, have fun! :D

**_REVIEW!_**


	16. Sugar and Sunshine

**A/N: **I swear, I'm so tired right now. Half my brain has shut off and I'm pretty sure it was the amusing side. And I have so much to say. This is gonna be really astonishingly boring. Uh, well, let's see here...**  
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First off, the thing I posted for Halloween: I'm not happy with it. Sure, it's funny, but it's really poorly written, and it's been bugging me. I really love that you guys liked it, but I'm gonna take it down. Not permanently, mind you, but I don't like having it there unfinished and in a state I'm not happy with. So, I'm gonna leave it up for a bit longer, and then I'm gonna take it down. Just giving a little warning in case you guys wanna save it or something. Idk, I just know it always annoys the crap out of me when people just randomly take down stories without warning. So, here's the warning. Sorry, guys.

Okay, next, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING. Yes, we've reached this point. I guess I didn't have that much to say after all. But I just wanted to tell you guys thanks. :D Every review where someone tells me I made them smile or laugh makes this entire thing 100% worth it. You guys rock. I'll try to be less of a suck.

**~Y'all Sexy Mofos I'm Thankful as Hell for~**

**acosta perez jose ramiro  
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**metalheadrailfan  
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**Panfla  
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**Nep2uune  
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**writergirl97  
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**NerdilyNi  
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**Myriamj  
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**HAFanForever  
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**Isabella Pataki  
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**Stavros 92  
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**Emily M  
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**Anonymous guests, too!  
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I swear, some of you guises' reviews nearly made me pee myself. xD Namely, Isabella over there with all your craze, and Nerdilz, as per us.' You guys are great. XD OMG, special shout-out to Emily M, especially! Extra special lurves there. :'D LET ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME! I couldn't get the dopey grin off my face for _hours._ XD It's reviews like that that'll keep me going for eons, caffeine or no. TY for that. x3

Okaybyettylandallthatlovey'allteeheetomatoesread

**Disclaimer: **"HEY ARNOLD!" is all Craig Bartlett's doing. Shortman kids are all my doing (I'm still sorry about that). Pamella is Panfla and I's doing.**  
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**Dedication: **Panfla, SUPREME OVERLORD OF ALL PANS ANYWHERE**  
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* * *

><p><strong>Sugar and Sunshine<strong>

* * *

><p>Air was a magnificent thing, Zack decided. And for two main reasons. For one, it was vital for life, and living so far out in the middle of the woods, he was surrounded by only the freshest. Crisp and new, he breathed in greedily, grinning as he exhaled and knowing the carbon dioxide would only help to produce even more air. Smirking, he thought, 'You're welcome, Earth,' before kicking a rock across the road and watching as it spun and jumped before disappearing somewhere with it's brothers in the grass.<p>

For two, being a man of difficult to tame hair, it was nice to have that windswept excuse now and again. He'd more than abused that little ditty today, with how windy it had decided to be. Typical New York. It felt nice and brisk at the moment especially, the sun already halfway down in that sleepy, lingering state where it peeked over the horizon, as if even it was aware of it's leaving far too early in the day and was reluctant. The trees and grass all reflected it, half orange, half shadow, and Zack knew he needed to get inside quick before he was completely encompassed in black.

Racing up the road at break-neck speed, he made it into his driveway and had to stumble in order to stop. Nearly ramming into the car, he laughed, pushing off of it and stumbling back towards the direction of the door. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked up to the door, releasing a quick breath and surprised to find it come out white. Yes, winter was coming, indeed. The air wouldn't be wonderful for long.

As soon as that warm burst of air hit his face from opening the door, he felt a shiver run through his body, dismissing the chill there as he shut the door with care. He stood there a moment, unwilling to take his jacket off just yet, when he heard the distinct sound of giggling. Puzzled, he turned his head, squinting his eyes in the halflit hallway. The giggling came again then, a bit louder, and, feeling mischievous, he carefully reached down to take his shoes off before soundlessly making his way towards the noise.

He found himself just outside the kitchen, and peeked his head around to see what was going on. The smell of chocolate and peppermint hit him in the face like a frying pan, and his jaw ditched his head at the sight before him.

"How many bags of chocolate chips have we used already?"

"Not nearly enough," Amanda giggled, rocking on her feet merrily.

The other person made an inhuman squeal and agreed heartily, before the two began ransacking the already open and wrecked cabinets with a vengeance. Cookie sheets, cupcake tins, and cake pans littered the island and counters, flower hanging in the air and clinging to every available surface, chocolates, mints and M&Ms scattered across the counters and floors. Finished and half-eaten cookies were thrown in a pile on one counter, one very big, pink, glass bowl currently filled with a mix of some sort, hopelessly overflowing with chocolate turtles, chips, mints, snickers and Nutella all crushed up and mutilated together into some artery-obliterating, brown version of _The Blob_.

But perhaps the most eye-catching sight was Pam, her red hoodie balled up and abandoned on top of the refrigerator and leaving her in faded gray-blue capris and a black long-sleeved sparkling peace sign shirt, with gray spots littering it from the flour. She rather resembled a cow with it's colors mixed up, and absolutely would if it weren't for the glittering green eyes and shock of red hair.

"Are you sure there's more?" the fiend dared ask his innocent little sister.

"Definitely! Mom stocked up yesterday for Thanksgiving but bought like eight bags too many of cookie and cake supplies. Dad gave her a whole lecture about it, said she's feeding a boarding house, not a barn," Amanda giggled again, loud and unconstrained, the sound of youth and sunshine. "She hid it really well, though."

"She knew you'd go looking for it," Pam laughed.

"Well, doi," Faith rolled her eyes prettily, grinning as she continued to joyously strip the room of any semblance of a kitchen and made it look more like the sorry remains of Hurricane Sandy. Hurricane Amanda, was more like it.

"I hope I'm not getting you in any trouble," Pam tittered, the grin on her face bespeaking anything but guilt. She raided the breadbox next, frowning as she came across nothing but crumbs and the first and last slices of an old bread loaf.

"Oh, no, I do this every year. Mom never gets mad. It's like a game." She beamed, before inspiration seemed to strike and she perked up like a lightning rod for a split second and flew across the room. Tilting her head down to look under the counter of the island, she lit up, grabbing a bag still layered with tape out from under and holding it up like a trophy. "Found them!"

"Heavens to Murgatroyd, and in under a minute," Pam exclaimed, clapping her hands in leisurely beats as she grinned. "You must be kickass at Where's Waldo."

Amanda made a joke of twirling a piece of sunshine hair around her finger as she said, "Well, I am really good at finding things."

"I should have figured you'd be Hufflepuff. You _look_ like a Hufflepuff." Pam stuck her tongue in her cheek, teeth visible in a grin.

"Oh? Then what are you?"

"Ravenclaw, of course." She flipped a loose strand of hair over her shoulder, returning Amanda's grin. Wandering over to the mixing bowel, she grabbed the giant spoon and began trying to stir the thick chocolate mass the best she could to make room for the new bag, grunting as she mused, "And Ham, too, would be Ravenclaw. He's got the smarts for it." She laid one arm down across the counter, a distant look crossing her smiling face.

Amanda hopped up on one of the stools of the island, swinging it back and forth beneath her as she propped her arms up on the counter. A wide smile graced her face as she asked, "What about Zack?"

The distant look was immediately swept away by a snort. "Either Slytherin or Gryffindor. Probably Gryffindor. You know, good intentioned but," she tapped her head, a sly grin crossing her face, "stupid."

Amanda repelled back from the counter, one eye clenched shut and her tongue stuck out. "Zack could never be Slytherin!" Pam laughed quietly, unsure whether to be amused or pitiful of her faith. The look disappeared from Faith's face the next second, replaced with a look of curiosity as she leaned forward on the counter again, the bag of chocolate chips still clutched tight in one fist. "What about Phil?" As soon as she said it, a wince crossed her features.

"Slytherin," they both flatly stated, both with equal looks of grimness.

Pam shook her head to clear away the thought, grinning once more as she reached a hand across the mountains of cake ingredients. "Now hand that chocolate over, we've got the world record for most fast-acting diabetes cupcakes ever to make!"

Amanda giggled, allowing Pam to snatch the bag out of her hands and attempt to rip it open with vigor. The duct tape still stuck to it presented a problem, however, and she huffed, pulling at the bag with all her might.

"What the heck is going on here?"

The bag exploded down the side, chips falling out of it like a waterfall for a couple seconds before Pam caught her breath and panickedly threw the bag into the mixing bowl.

Zack, having strode purposely into the room, now stood before her with an expression that looked like it didn't know whether it was amused or annoyed. At the last moment, it settled on annoyed and he leveled his stare on her. "Why are you in my house?"

"For the love of," Pam swore, sending him a severe look. Becoming acutely aware of Amanda's stare, though, she took a breath and relaxed, forcing a sad excuse for a smile on her face. "Amanda invited me in." Pulling the now goopy, empty bag of chips out of the bowl, she raised an eyebrow at him, scraping the batter off of it with her finger. "You didn't tell me you had a little sister."

"I was afraid you'd try to eat her soul." Shifting his gaze onto Amanda's bright and curious face, covered in flour and flecks of chocolate, he winced. "And lo and behold, I was at least half right. 'manda, what? Don't you know better than to invite strangers into our home?"

Amanda observed him unsurely, a delicate frown curving her mouth. "I was feeding the fish out back with Daddy and Pam came out. Dad said he knew her and it was okay if she came in."

Zack's eyes widened at the same time that Pam smirked, her hand coming up to start mixing in the chocolate chips. "See, Brow, nothing to see here. Run along and go do whatever little Zacks do at this hour."

Zack chuckled under his breath, dipping his head down as his hand came up to wag his finger in her direction. "No, now, see," he strutted across the room, before he came to the end of the island and picked up a shredded bag of old chocolate cooking mints between two fingers, looking like the Tasmanian devil on crack had had it's way with it, "I have trouble believing Dad gave permission for our next door neighbor to trash the kitchen." He raised half his eyebrow, smirking. "Especially not one that looks like a deranged midget clown going for the peace prize by bribing little girls with cookies and misleading t-shirts."

"We'll clean it up, assjack, so roll back the sass," Pam shot back, irritated, her movements becoming jerky as she continued to stir. And with the mussed, scraggly hair and unnaturally wide eyes, she looked the very textbook definition of his description.

Zack eyed her violent movements a few moments silently, before he stated, "You know if you break that bowl, my mom will kill you, right?"

Pam let go of the spoon like it had caught fire and pursed her lips, anger clear in her brow. Zack just clicked his tongue and skipped over to stand behind Amanda, his hands coming up to flatten her pigtails over her ears. "And for the record, you better clean that filth from your mouth with a scrub brush, La-la. Faith's innocent little virgin ears don't need to hear that." Amanda laughed and batted his hands away, craning her head back to look at him with sparkly eyes. He grinned down at her.

Pam stopped short at the sight, surprised for but a moment before she resumed her glaring and humphed, picking up the bowl to go stir it on the counter by the sink. She spoke with her back to him, "I think Amanda can handle a few, well-placed curse words, Zack. It's not like she's going to start using them herself. Don't you know your sister at all?"

"Oh-ho!" Zack guffawed, stepping to the right of Amanda to place a hand on her shoulder with a large grin. "The he-lady spends an hour or two with the little lady and suddenly believes she knows her better than her big brother? The guy who's spent all seven years of her life by her side? Who fed her, changed her, and lulled her to sleep with songs of death by tree-cradle? I carried her for_ nine months, _Pam—"

"That was your mom, Numb-nuts," Pam said, turning her head to look at him with an amused quirk of her mouth.

"Well, it might as well have been me. I had to sit by and watch as my dad rubbed her feet and listen to her call him all sorts of colorful nicknames while he did it. That was _painful_ to watch." Zack shook his head in mock self-pity, picking pieces of cake and cookie from Amanda's hair while she observed this conversation with quiet amusement.

"Is that supposed to be cute?" Pam rolled her eyes, growing very close to getting very angry all over again.

Zack snapped his eyes on her, eyebrow high. "No, this is." He puffed his bottom lip out and made his blue eyes round and moony, slumping his shoulders down. Pam immediately burst into laughter, whirling her head back around to look at her bowl, shoulders shaking slightly from the strain of trying to hide her amusement. She blamed all the sugar. Zack just smirked.

"And for the record," he went on in a purposely pompous tone, sliding around the island with a finger poised in the center of the counter, "I'm more Ravenclaw than you'll ever be." He stuck his tongue out.

Pam burst out in a totally uncharacteristic giggle. "You're about as Ravenclaw as a tomato is a vegetable. It _seems_ obvious, what with all the blue, but in reality? Nope."

Zack sent her a shrewd look, scrunching his features up. "Please, Ginger, I'm a slick-tongued Casanova with the wit of a hundred men rolled into one. If that doesn't scream Ravenclaw, get out."

Tongue firmly in cheek, Pam threw her head back to look at him upside down. "Right, not to mention the fifty-ton ego resting on the world's most colossally inflated head."

With one smooth stride over to stand in the center of the room, a few steps away from the redhead in question, he steepled his fingers under his nose and smirked. "I'm going to go ahead and pull a Phil here." Clearing his throat, he said regally, sticking his nose high in the air for good measure, "I don't have an ego, I simply don't underestimate myself." Flipping his hair back with a jerk of his head, he put on his most la-di-da face he could manage. "I'm capable of _things_." He swiveled his tongue around in the air, before smirking again. "_Many_ things." He cleared his throat again, letting his hands drop. "Quote-unquote. No exaggeration."

"Oh my _God_." Pam abandoned her bowl in favor of hiding her face in her hands, looking on the verge of hysterical laughter and trying pathetically to hide it.

"Noble attempt you're making there, Pam Cake," Zack quipped smugly, walking over to get a finger of cake mix and pop it in his mouth. He grinned around it. "You're not helping to make me any humbler with this little display. Just letting you know."

"Did I hear my name?" Phil popped his head into the room, raising an eyebrow. Pam just hunched over further.

"Philly-Willy!" Zack beamed, and grabbed the bowl so he could hold it out to him in gesture. "You did indeed hear your name! Did you know these two have been using up all your precious chocolate turtles for their own nefarious deeds?"

Phil pursed his lips, his brow creasing a moment before he shrugged it off. _Shrugged it off_. "Eh, I'm getting more tomorrow anyway." He walked further into the room then, inspecting it with a critical eye. "Geez, women strike again. Mom'll have a field day with all this."

"We'll clean it up!" Pam burst out at random, her hands shooting to her sides as she glared at the boy. Phil merely regarded her calmly, eyebrow still raised. Pam faltered the next second, guiltily hanging her head. She mumbled an apology.

Zack was grinning a mega watt smile, of course. Setting the bowl back on the counter, he leaned against it and crossed his arms, eyebrow raised. "Well, you seem in a good mood, Phil. Last time Amanda ate your chocolate turtles, you declared war on all seven continents."

Phil opened his mouth to reply, but Amanda's sudden ear-piercing giggle interrupted him and made him go cross-eyed for a split second before he clenched his eyes shut. One sharp look in her direction made her clam up—albeit she was still grinning far too wide, but he'd let it slide—and a smile graced his features the next moment as he looked back towards Zack. "Substitute teacher today." He smirked darkly. "And tomorrow. And the day after that. Life is good. For once." He folded his arms. "Have I ever mentioned there's an endless supply of tacks in the teacher's lounge?"

"You little bastard—" Zack coughed loudly, trying to cover up the curse word a second too late. Amanda just tilted her head at him with a tiny smirk of her own and he sighed, smiling.

Phil dropped into a deep, dramatic bow, hair flopping over into his face before he flipped it back on his way back up, grinning with sadistic glee. "She never knew what hit her." Sticking his tongue out at Amanda once and earning a giggle, he rolled his eyes and began out of the room. Zack followed shortly after, his voice loud enough for all the house to hear, "Wait up, little man, I want a piece of that action!"

Phil's quieter, scratchy voice followed this with a, "You _wish_!"

Both Pam and Amanda blinked, before they looked back to each other grimly and said singly, "Slytherin."

Just when Pam was about to turn back around, Zack popped his head back in and pointed a finger at her with slitted eyes, startling both girls enough to make them jump. "Don't you think I'm done here, I'll be back for your ass later." And then he was gone, footsteps loud as they pounded down the hallway and up the stairs.

There was a short moment of silence.

"So," Pam wasted no time in changing the subject, grabbing up the jug of Nutella and a fresh bag of M&Ms from under the sink, "which do we need more of? Nutella, _Mmms_, or should I break out the fudge?" She held them both up, grinning.

Amanda broke out in an incredulous laugh, bouncing up from her seat with hands flat on the counter as she grinned. "All of the above!"

"Ding ding ding," Pam trilled, already in the process of unscrewing the Nutella. "That was the correct answer!"

Amanda beamed, all sugar and sunshine.

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><p><strong>AN: **Thankful for you guys. Really am. :) Thanks for all the smiles, and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday. Cheers!


	17. I Don't Lie, I Act

**A/N: **Old file. Crap. Getting it out of my way.

**Disclaimer: **...I don't have patience for this anymore. Dis shiz iz whack. I'm writing up a disclaimer for my profile and putting an end to this nonsense. I don't own "HA!" but I do own... everything else. _Now leave_.

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><p><strong>I Don't Lie, I Act<strong>

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><p>Phil wasn't a good liar.<p>

He never had been. Since the day he'd learned to speak, he'd spoken nothing but honestly. When his brothers broke the mint, pink vase in the living room that their mother was so proud of, he'd been the one to tell, in great and loudly exclaimed detail, right in front of his brother's horror stricken stands. When the principal called from school to ask why him and his father weren't present that morning, he calmly informed him they were pretending to be sick because his dad hated his guts and was trying to get him fired, resulting in a very long lecture from his dad and a few more days off school. Even when his parents found the crudely doodled impression of his grandmother's cat on the hallway walls and asked who'd done it, he had willingly admitted to the masterpiece, and had then proceeded to look at them funny for the rest of the day when they reacted less than enthusiastic at the discovery.

As he got older, he began to understand _why_ people felt the need to keep secrets. As his father had a habit of reminding him nowadays, some things were better left unsaid. He had never understood that statement until one day at school when he was asked why he didn't talk much to anyone, and he stated simply, "You're all idiots and a complete waste of oxygen," which had resulted in detention and fifty written sentences on the board—_If I have nothing nice to say, I will not say anything. If I have nothing nice to say, I will not say anything. If I have nothing nice to say, I will not say anything…_

He had spoken very seldom at school since that day.

He had been six.

It was difficult for him not to speak when he was at home, though, and he rarely tried to hold back his comments of how stupid this show was, or how dumb that shirt made him look, or that yes, Mom, that dress does make you look fat. Luckily for him, they were all used to his bluntness and rarely reacted poor anymore, instead going on to blame themselves for asking in the first place, but after a while as he began trying to hold off from what his dad labeled as "cruel," he found that he in general had a difficult time _not_ being honest with his thoughts.

He'd tried lying many times before. But it caused a great deal of effort on his part to force anything past his lips that went against his beliefs or feelings. A sweat would break out across his face, his words would crack, his hands would fidget. All he'd ever been able to manage were little half-truths and half-hearted grunts that could be interpreted as anything. He didn't understand lying. He resented the existence of it, and he didn't understand why anyone would want it of him, didn't understand what use it could be to him if all it did was make him queasy. So eventually, with his failed attempts and frustrations spent, he closed in on himself and stopped speaking all together.

That lasted all of two hours, before his mom asked him if he wanted mustard on his sandwich and he screamed that mustard was the cause of all things horrendous in the world and he would rather eat his own tongue than have it anywhere near him. His mother had simply blinked at the outburst, before asking if the same went for mayonnaise. He wilted and told her mayo was fine. Any attempts at an apology were lost in translation, but his mother seemed to empathize and said not a word on the matter.

When the day came he decided he wanted to be an actor, the need for the ability to lie seemed to make a little more sense. His brother made fun of him for his attempts, mockingly said he was trying far too hard and he wouldn't survive a day in Hollywood with his sweaty palms and shifting eyes. Phil rejected that idea, because acting was nothing like lying—acting meant you became an entirely different person, compromised the morals and emotions of someone that was not yourself—not that you had to look someone you knew and cared about in the eye and tell them something you knew with every fiber of your being was crap.

Zack had done that snort he liked to do, the one that was way too loud and entirely too out of the blue, and said that lying and acting were exactly the same—you had to _lie_ to yourself that you weren't yourself in a scene, and had to pretend fiction was fact, which was no different than a regular fib. If anyone would know about such things, it would be Zack, who could lie through an unflinching grin and go on in his day unhindered by doubt, but Phil couldn't bring himself to believe that. They weren't the same to Phil—they were in completely different folders in his mind, categorized differently and with different purposes, and so he chose to ignore him.

A few attempts to audition for the plays at his new school proved there to be some truth to his brother's words, though, however miniscule—he found himself offended by the things in the script, and scandalized that anyone would write such rubbish and have the nerve to think he was going to play along with it. Rather than practicing lines, he'd spent the day painstakingly ripping each and every page into confetti before throwing it out his window.

The next day he gave the "director" a piece of his mind, and the man had told him that if he didn't like the play, he shouldn't have come. Phil was disgusted, and had then added "writer" to his list of things he was going to be someday, along with, as a bitterly satisfied afterthought, director as well. The only way to make sure things were done correctly was to do them all himself.

Acting wasn't anything like lying, as far as Phil was concerned, but there was such a thing as lying to the audience, which made him just as squirmy and disgusted. "Romeo and Juliet" had proven that to him, and he made a promise to himself that one day he would fix that heap of trash, and make it into something _honest_, something that wouldn't dump a bucket of thick, glazed sugar on top of the truth.

He hadn't acted since that day, but he did always make sure to be present during auditions and practices, and would be sure to give his two cents on things. He wasn't naïve to people's displeasure of him, hadn't been since he was a child, and wasn't blind to the director's sneers and backhanded comments. He was perfectly aware—he just didn't give two shakes. He'd scowl and lash back with comments twice as sharp and belittle Leichliter's inability to write anything less than sunshine and smiley faces. His fights and iron-laced outbursts with the teachers soon made it so kids would stand clear of him in the hallways, and he gladly sent them his sarcastic regards at the wariness written on their faces. As if he'd waste his time with them.

As time went on, him and Mr. Leichliter's fights would grow more and more ferocious, and it wasn't long before he was openly decreed "Mr. Leach eater" by Phil. The two-bit musical director went from school to school, producing crap shows and gaining praise he didn't deserve. He drove Phil out of his mind. Truth be told, the man had Phil's dream job. He'd love to go marching around producing this and that, playing with scripts and bossing people around. Which was perhaps another reason Phil hung around him so much. He liked to watch the magic happen, even if it was dishonest magic. In like, Mr. Leichliter never sent him away. In a weird way, Phil thought he looked fondly on him, which didn't make sense. Phil was always looking over his shoulder when he was writing, scoffing and sneering at the ridiculous, mushy things he wrote. The man was a marshmallow posing as black licorice.

He hated the man. The man hated him.

So it was only natural that the leach eater should hire him as his assistant on his fifteenth birthday. Phil just scoffed and said, "About time," before walking off to shred some scripts. It had been a relatively decent day. Though only those in drama club knew that he worked there—nobody else ever asked, or would suspect that the weird goth kid who glared at everyone was also the overdramatic, hostile director's assistant. And that was just the way Phil liked it.

It wasn't until he was sixteen Mr. Leichliter started giving him parts in the plays again. Phil had been taken aback and, admittedly, nervous, but he'd gone ahead with it. It wasn't until he'd read his script that he'd understood why he'd been assigned such a part—the cynical, grouchy homeless man. How befitting.

He'd gotten angry over it, and gone to ask just what the hell he was trying to say with giving him such a part, and it was then that the eater of leaches said something to him he'd never forget—some people were flexible and could bend into any roll they were assigned. They could become anyone, anything, no problem, whether they'd felt certain emotions required or not. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't, but what made Phil different was that he was a character in and of himself. His raw, brutal honesty restricted him from ever being able to do such things, and he was essentially doomed to be assigned the same type of part every time he auditioned.

Phil was naturally offended by such a statement, but once Leichliter started listing out names like Whoopee Goldberg, Jack Black, and Tim Allan in comparison to him, he started to understand. It wasn't so much a step back as it was he was just… good at being an asshole. It was incredulity and passion that were his strengths, and although he wasn't particularly flexible in many other roles, he was at least well-versed in those regards. People hired for strengths like that, it was like a gimmick. It was just his particular brand of expertise. Chocolate ice cream may not be strawberry ice cream or vanilla, and it couldn't magically turn into them, but people still loved it and it was grossing around five point one billion dollars a year. That was what Phil was. He was the type of guy to point out what was wrong in a room and make callous remarks about it. And, odd as it was, people dug that when it wasn't being directed at them. Typical.

The fact was that Phil's honesty could have either made or broken him. But luckily for him, it just made him raw, which was just what any good actor needed. He couldn't think of acting like a lie in the first place anyway—then it would be too much like playing dress up and smiling for the camera. When he acted, he became someone else. Someone who was himself but not himself at the same time. There was no camera, there were no lights, it was just life. The life of someone angry and smiling about it, because why the hell not? His talent in scoffing at the "baby" stuff in plays offered great comic relief apparently… So in the end, honesty truly did pay, he supposed, and he was glad it was in his nature.

Mr. Leach Eater was still a douche bag, though.

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><p><strong>AN: **I don't know if this makes any sense whatsoever. It wasn't where I thought I was going with it, but the thought's there... I... guess... Ugh. Ignore this. Moving on.

Update: Phil's chapter outline is close to finished. Once it is, I'm going to write the first chapter and post. Maybe sometime by the end of December or early to mid January. It's had me more or less incapacitated for a while now. xD

So far the outline includes lots of peppy, Broadway star Olga interfering in anything and everything, horrified Helga questioning her choices in life, Arnold purchasing earplugs with a bag of pennies, Oskar getting pummeled with pans, child mobsters illegally selling snacks, Phil questioning his existence (also vomiting and basically having a total conniption and mental breakdown, woohoo), Zack and Pam fighting nonstop (while married), Mike being introduced and deciding Zack's an a-hole (who's surprised?), Zack making out with Sophie in front of a bunch of teachers, Eugene being... Eugene, Mr. Leach Eater doing his dizzy thang yo, and Ham trying his level-best to stay out of it all and failing. With the help of his BFF Kori, of course. Oh, and the entire thing's a musical, btw. SO MUCH FUN. Ha.

Well, back to my hole. And math. And a bath. And decaf. And... and... a calf. OKAY BAI.

**_REVIEW!_**


	18. Of Godzilla and Mistletoe: Part 1

**A/N: **I know it's late for Christmas, but hey, at least it's still winter! XD First part. Second is already written. No worries. So you may read easy, m'dahlings.

I've had horrendous writer's block for like a month now, though. And depression. Christmas cheered me up a lot, though... This was actually the best Christmas I've had in years. xD And I wanted to write something so bad, 'cause it's freaking Christmas, omg. D: Plus since Phil's outline is finished now (just need to start writing!), I needed to get back into my groove thang, yo. Word. And I think I... succeeded? Omg XD At the very least I've got my "trying way too hard" groove back, which is a start. xD *Boogies hard* It starts out strained but it gets better the further you go... I think. It got easier at the very least. xD I think I broke my block :D *Throws confetti*

So, without further adieu, merry Christmas to all, and to all a good read!

**Disclaimer: **"HEY ARNOLD!" belongs to the big CB, Craig Bartlett. Zachary Shortman, Joshua "Ham" Shortman, Phillip Shortman, Amanda Shortman, Jaron Johanssen, and Sophie Carpenter are all mine. Taro Johanssen belongs to **metalheadrailfan**. Pamella Idleberry belongs to **Panfla** and I.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Of Godzilla and Mistletoe<br>**

**Part 1  
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><p>Anyone who knew the Shortman family personally was well aware of their tendency towards the eccentric. Whether it was the fact they lived far out in the middle of the woods in a neighborhood with houses mapped about the countryside like poorly aimed spitballs, or their frequent visits into the city to meet with their extended, just-as (if not more) eccentric relatives and adopted aunts and uncles, or simply because of their strong and often catastrophically conflicting personalities, they were the type of family you did not want to have dinner with, unless you wanted to potentially lose an eye.<p>

The two heads of the family were of course the infamous Arnold and Helga Shortman, married out of college and with a baby on the way before they were even twenty-three years of age, and had caused many a joke to pass amongst their friends about how disastrously they seemed to get along and yet how fiercely they adored each other. Despite all the setbacks laid before them, they persevered, and the years flew by in a tizzy of marital bliss, band-aids, doctors' appointments, therapy sessions, and all around family-concerned calamity and mischief.

The unlikely pair had even unlikelier kids, you see; the eldest with a terrible ego problem and an attitude laid back to the point of dissolution and positive rakishness, the second adventurous, repressed and with far too much sanity for his own good, the third with an unstably listless, sardonic demeanor and depressive attitude, and the last with all the goodness and sweetness they could have hoped for in a daughter—more than they had hoped for, really.

It was on a day not much different than any other in their home that the eldest, a teenager by the name of Zachary, became bored. As all teenagers may do on a boring Saturday afternoon after sleeping most of the day away, he decided to do what he did best—annoy the crap out of his little brother.

"Phil," Zack questioned, standing behind the couch where his youngest brother and best friend were sitting. The TV was on, the volume at a minimum as some ultramasculine, _'I have interesting things to say' _voice spoke of things Zack held no interest in.

Phil made a short sound of acknowledgement that sounded a lot like he wasn't paying him any attention, and Zack smirked slightly, unable to control the action as he braced his hands on the couch. Leaning over the back of it, he swung his head down to look upside down into his brother's face, delighting in how Phil's eyes bulged and he scuttled back as much as he could into the couch.

"Phil," Zack repeated, velvetty, eyes half-mast, "what are you doing?"

Phil's eyes narrowed at him, before he reached up to push his head out of his face. "Rehearsing Swan Lake. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Well," Zack spoke vaguely, huffing out a small breath as he scratched at his head, "it looks a lot like you're watching TV but I know that can't be right, 'cause this doesn't look like the Lifetime network."

Phil made a disgusted sound, twisting himself around to give him a dirty look. "We're watching History, Zack, something your brain has no hope of ever understanding the reasons behind."

"Oh!" Zack grinned, clapping his hands together. "History, eh? Am I on there?" Bounding around the couch, he threw himself backwards in between Phil and Jaron, at the edge of his seat as he stared doe-eyed at the television.

"No," he heard Phil say, and he turned his face ever so slightly to smirk at him, "you're thinking of Animal Planet."

He heard a snort suddenly, and turned his eyes to look with alarm as Jaron tried to quell his snickers behind his hand. Zack's eyes narrowed good-humoredly, and he fell back into the couch, startling both occupants as he threw his arms in the air. "Well, I never!"

"It's Modern Marvels," Jaron explained shortly after, still grinning crookedly with mirth shining in his honey-brown eyes.

"Bathroom Tech," Phil added carelessly, arms crossed over his chest as he stared blankly at the screen. "It's kind of interesting, I guess."

Zack scrunched his face up with a smile, turning his face from the two to look back at the screen. "Oh, well that's—Holy crap, that's a big ass toilet roll."

"All toilet rolls start out as a big one," Jaron stated, watching as the colossal roll of toilet paper was transported across the room by machine. "They roll the paper onto one long roll and then that's cut down to what we buy in stores."

"Criminy, man." Zack kept his face scrunched and eyes slit. "Look at that thing. I guess now we know where Godzilla gets his toiletries from."

"You're an idiot," Phil felt the need to drone, sweeping some hair from his face as he eyed his brother with casual disdain.

Zack frowned at him ingenuinely, bringing a mocking hand up to cover his heart. "Why must you be so cruel to your poor, big brother, Phil?"

"I'm not being cruel, I'm being courteous," he corrected with a shrug, reaching over to pick up a cup from the coffee table and take a sip. "Just thought you should know." He hmphed quietly to himself, venturing no further on the topic than that.

Jaron poked his friend in the shoulder, before extending the same hand out in gesture. "Hey, dude, don't be so hard on Phil. I'd trade Taro for him in a heartbeat if I could. At least he admits to insulting you." He blinked. "Well, sorta."

Phil stretched his neck to look around Zack at him, almost smiling. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"I'm never hard on Phil. We're merely brothers," Zack said, sounding almost offended as he looked sternly at Jaron. "And for the record," he declared in a high, pompous tone, grabbing Phil suddenly into a hug just as he'd been stretching to set his drink back down, the cup only just clattering to the table before he was snatched away, "he's not for sale!"

"Let go of me this instant," Phil strained in something that wanted to be a growl, prying at the arms holding him tightly about the neck.

Zack smirked wickedly, cackling at how violently he kicked and squirmed after being so dispassionate but a moment earlier. "See, Jar'?" he gleefully said, grinning at his friend as he stared with some surprise. "This is what big brothers are for! This is how we love!"

"Zachary," a voice came suddenly from behind, startling Zack into releasing Phil. Phil doubled over in his seat immediately, taking in large gulps of air as he rubbed tenderly at his neck. Meanwhile Zack whipped his head around to see their father standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed and body in stance bespeaking his readiness of delivering a lecture.

Zack merely presented a large smile that gave much pronunciation to his cheeks, pretending as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place. "Hey, Pops, home so soon?"

Arnold shook his head, something strangely weary in the movement. "I didn't go anywhere, Zack."

Zack shrunk. "You didn't?"

"No. I didn't. I've been home all day." Arnold's frown seemed only capable of deepening.

"Ignorant toad," Phil grunted then, still hunched over as he rubbed at his neck. Zack gave him a look, for once unamused with his dramatizing of the situation.

Rather than comment on the scene he'd walked into, Arnold advanced further into the room and sat down in what Phil had long ago deemed his chair. Him and their mother were the only two people he permitted to ever sit in it, and seeing his dad perched there so innocently made Zack bite his cheek. He'd tried sitting in that chair so many times before when Phil wasn't around, only to have him pop in out of nowhere and start yelling at him, as if he just sat around in random hiding places during the day waiting for someone foolish enough to dare _try_. The fact Dad could sit so easily there without Phil batting an eye only seemed to further announce his power in the room, and Zack knew he had to act fast.

"Hey, Dad," he hastened to say, back at the edge of his seat as he gestured towards the TV, "they're showing a special on Godzilla's bathroom supplies. After the commercial break, I think they're even showing his toilet. Isn't that interesting?"

Arnold blinked once at him, twice, before he leaned over slightly to smile at their guest. "Hello, Jaron, did you sleep well?"

There was a slight pause. "Very well, Mr. Shortman. Thank you for letting me stay over," Jaron said, smiling in that close-but-not-quite uncomfortable manner kids had around their friends' parents.

"Of course, Jaron, you know you're always welcome." Arnold smiled warmly, before settling comfortably back into the chair. "Helga told me she made you breakfast this morning. Are you okay?"

"I survived," Jaron joked, cheeks dimpling.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to appear until now. It's been a long week." The middle-aged man reached back to rub tiredly at the back of his neck, rubbing away the beginnings of a headache though his lips continued to smile. "You know how it is with my class and…" he paused to cough, "all."

"Of course, Mr. Shortman," Jaron said politely.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Zack ventured to ask quite plainly then, voice pitched deep as he stared fixedly at his father.

"Because to talk to you is to acknowledge the stupid in the room, and that'd only decrease the scant few precious brain cells we have left," Phil deadpanned the next moment, his expression somber as if he were speaking of something that was of a great disadvantage to all involved.

"So cruel to your big brother," Zack repeated calmly, shaking his head.

"Be nice," Arnold censured, eying Phil as he retreated back into his shell, having the decency to look at least a little apologetic. Not towards Zack, but rather towards Arnold, and the man knew him well enough to know this was the best he would get out of the boy. With a soundless sigh, Arnold turned his attention to Zack's currently comically deer-like expression and said, "I'm sorry, Zack, I just didn't know how to respond to 'Godzilla's toilet.'"

"Oh, that's okay," Zack exclaimed, bright-faced once more. "I didn't know how to react to Godzilla's toilet paper either."

There was a short silence in the room, before Arnold replied, "Right." He cleared his throat, fist to lips, before laying his hand in the air as he promptly changed the subject. "So, it's very close to lunch time about now. Is anyone hungry?"

"I could eat a horse and a half," a fifth voice intervened, and they all looked over to see Ham walking in from the dining room, in nothing but a gray wife-beater and jeans as he took a long sip from a bottled water.

"And it's for reasons like that that I'll never understand how you're not morbidly obese," Zack said smirkily, and was rewarded with an eye roll from the fourteen-year-old. Jaron smirked along with him, and Zack reclined back into the couch with his hands behind his head, crossing his legs leisurely, looking almost cat-like for a moment.

"I'm not really hungry," Phil said quietly, reaching over to pick his cup back up and take a sip.

"Oh, come now, Phil," Arnold insisted as he leaned over in his chair, supporting himself by his arms on his legs, "you're a growing boy. You could use a meal or two once in a while." He smirked slightly, almost amused.

"I eat enough," Phil protested, before Zack felt the need to add, "Judging by your height, not nearly enough as you should."

Phil shot a dark look at him for that, clenching his teeth at Zack's lazy expression.

"I could take you all out," Arnold suggested, looking almost hopeful as he exchanged a look with each of them. "There's a diner not too far off I can take you all to. I hear they have really great food."

"You mean Dick's Diner, the one we pass on the way to Hillwood every week?" Zack raised half his brow, amused, and taking it upon himself to sit up a bit in humored alarm at this development.

"Didn't a man die there?" Ham questioned, wary as he perched himself half on the arm of the couch beside where Phil sat.

"Actually I think it was a woman," Jaron corrected, his mouth flattening. "Choked on an especially big piece of hamburger gristle."

"What the heck is hamburger gristle?" Phil asked, looking distinctly disturbed as he looked with great skepticism at the elder.

"Those hard ball things," Ham informed.

"Oh, I hate those."

"You hate everything," Zack ended the conversation with an impetuous snort, before he looked hard at their father. "Don't you know the Heimlich maneuver, Dad? Can you teach us?"

"Are you telling me you love gristle, Zack?" Phil asked vehemently, outraged at his flippant assessment of him, even if it was very partially true.

"No, but that's not important."

"Why the sudden interest in medical knowledge?" Ham questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it just occurred to me that if Dad wants us to eat at Private's Diner that we might want to be prepared for possible choking hazards." The teen shrugged.

There was a silence.

"I think I'd rather stay," Phil slowly decided, warily, casting a haunted look to somewhere across the room. Ham grimaced.

"Yeah, don't want to miss Godzilla's toilet," Jaron jested with a hop of his eyebrows, earning a grin from his best friend as they low-fived each other.

"Aw, come on, Phil, Dad hardly ever takes us out," Ham encouraged as he placed a hand on Phil's shoulder.

"Yeah, that's a good point," Zack said suddenly, earning everyone's attention with his eyebrow scrunching down in bemusement. "Since when does Dad take us out to eat? What's the occasion?"

Arnold looked a bit more tired than he had a few minutes prior, with something unfamiliar in his face they either had never seen before or had seen too long ago to remember what looked like. Though he did try to stay pleasant as he reasoned, "Well, it's not often Jaron stays the night at our house. I just thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"Jaron stays the night almost every weekend, and for a good bit of the week. Jaron practically lives here," Zack said, slightly confused as he looked humorously at his dad, smiling incredulously.

Dad stood up suddenly at that and straightened his button-down, plaid shirt, his face measured as he concluded the matter simply, "Well, if you kids didn't want to go out, all you had to do was say so. I think we have some turkey leftover in the fridge. I'll just go get that." Turning without another word, he quit the room to go and do just that, his face looking a bit longer than usual. And not horizontally, either.

Everyone seemed to blink all at once, and the room was quiet for another heartbeat or two as a toothpaste commercial played merrily in the background, before finally Zack said, "Dad seems down."

Phil snorted involuntarily, and mumbled something about Sherlock.

"Well," Jaron began, trying to be helpful, "Winter is fast approaching, the nights are getting longer. A lot of people get depressed around this time."

"Not me," Phil said blandly, swishing the contents of his drink around as he stared, "I like the cold. It lets everyone know what my soul feels like." Pausing a beat, he added, in a moment of quiet reflection, "Doesn't seem like something Dad would succumb to, though."

Zack wrinkled his chin, casting a sidelong look at his brother before he sank back into the cushions with his hands clasping over his stomach, his voice bright as he said, "I like Winter because it means warm blankets, hot beverages and cozy fires. It's comforting."

Phil paused a moment, before taking an inconspicuous sip of his tea. Zack smirked to himself a second, before going on, a thoughtful expression sliding onto his face, "Oddly, though, I have to agree with Phil on one point. It's getting closer and closer to Christmas. Everyone's in a good mood nowadays, and it's not like Dad can Grinch out. He has plenty of family."

"Ugh," Phil scoffed, his hands tightening around his cup as he bit back a sneer, "I hate that. It's barely even December and already there are people singing Christmas carols. We had Christmas lights set up in our classroom immediately after Halloween ended. It's pathetic."

"See?" Zack gestured a long hand to Phil, his face open and eyes wide. "Dad loves Christmas and it's everywhere. That can't be it."

Phil opened his mouth like he wanted to make a snarky comment at that, but he snapped his mouth shut at the last second and rolled his eyes. "True enough," he said tightly. Suddenly losing any interest in tea, he set it down on the table and leaned back with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, working his jaw.

"Maybe that is the problem, though," Ham piped up, standing from his perch to walk over and set his water on the coffee table by Phil's cup. Clapping his hands together as he turned around to face them all on the couch, he said, "Think about it. Christmas is coming up soon, and we don't have a single decoration up, and we live in the middle of nowhere so it's not like anyone else has bothered either."

"I can attest to that. Pam actually said outright they're not putting lights up or anything," Zack said with faint amusement. "It is getting pretty dismal out here, now that you mention it, and it's only going to get worse, especially with nobody doing anything."

"We always go over to the boarding house for Christmas, you know that," Phil objected, his eyebrows furrowing and mouth turning down into something that almost resembled a pout. "We don't _need_ to decorate." Sinking down into the couch suddenly, he whispered with shrinking pupils, stricken, "Please don't make us decorate."

"Oh, please, Phil," Zack retorted as he stood from the couch, grinning down at him, "where's your Christmas spirit? This is a great idea! It's just the thing Dad needs to cheer up."

With a slow but sure smile traveling across Ham's lemon-shaped head, he said, "Yeah, we should be able to go out back and cut down a Christmas tree no problem."

"And get those lights Dad bought and never used out of the closet and hang them up outside, glue some leaves together for mistletoe…" Zack added with rising enthusiasm, his own grin growing rapidly.

"Get some of Dad's Christmas records out, make paper snowflakes…"

"Okay, that settles it," Zack proclaimed, throwing a hand in the air as he dropped his head down, hair flopping down into his eyes, "we are gods." Ham high-fived him, proudly stating, with an almost pleasantly surprised air about him, "It was my idea, too."

Zack hummed at this noncommittally, his voice mild as he responded, "Sure, Josh, whatever you say." He clapped his hands together then, his voice raising to his normal tone as he said merrily, "We have a lot of planning to do, though, so let's get to it. How are we gonna get Mom and Dad out of the house?" He looked lively about them, hands still together.

"It was my idea, Zack," Ham reaffirmed, voice lowering as he gave the taller teen a poorly veiled glare.

"Sure it was," Zack drawled as he sent a wink at Jaron, who was eying the scene with an eyebrow cocked. Ham caught this, Zack having not bothered to hide the gesture past holding a hand up to his mouth (which made no sense), and his eyes narrowed. He raised his voice slightly, jutting a thumb towards himself, "It _was_ mine, Zack, don't try to take credit for something you know very well wasn't your idea."

"I'm the one that brought up Christmas," the elder said almost tiredly, as if he were dealing with a rowdy six-year-old. "None of this could be possible without my foresight."

"Please, I was thinking it before you even opened your mouth."

"Now who's the liar, my dear Joshua?"

"You cannot be serious with this. How do you even _exist_?"

"I ask myself that every day when I look in the mirror, but I hardly see how that pertains to anything here. Look, does it really matter whose idea it was, Josh?" His face took on a new light with these words, his voice light and persuasive as he put a gentle hand on Ham's shoulder. Ham only tensed up further. "The point is that we're doing this together, as a family, and whoever's idea it was in the first place—" he muttered a quick, low, "_mine_," before resuming his regular speech, "—won't matter at the end. Do you really think Dad will care who's—_mine_—idea it was? Because I don't think he will." He shook his head.

Ham gaped, his upper body subconsciously drifting backwards and away from him. "Oh my God. Just _shut up_—"

Zack's eyebrow flew up, his tongue quick, "What for?"

"It was my idea and you know it," Ham yelled, startling Zack enough that his hand snapped off of his shoulder. Ham went on, appalled, "You always have to take credit for everything, don't you? You just can't stand having anyone else have the limelight for _one second_."

"I hardly think it matters," Zack giggled nervously.

"It matters to me," Ham shouted, his face turning red as his hands snapped up without his permission and grabbed Zack by his collar, jerking him down so he could properly glower into his face. Zack's eyes were wide for only a second, before he smirked, a retort ready to roll off his tongue.

"Both of you shut up this instant," Phil shouted suddenly, making everyone jump from the sheer ferocity of it. The brunet stood up with stiff shoulders, and glared at both of them stonily, mouth set in a straight, tight line. Sharp eyes shifted between the two stunned boys for a few tense moments, before he opened his mouth and stated, calmly, "You're both idiots. Just tell Mom Dad's depressed, and she'll get to the bottom of it and fix whatever's wrong. Problem solved. Now sit down and stop acting like eight-year-olds, for the love of Sinatra." He threw his hands in the air.

Both Zack and Ham's eyes lit up, and almost instantly Phil knew he'd made a mistake. Periods flew through the air, before a lightbulb all but exploded above their heads when they yelled, snapping their eyes to each other, "Mom!"

"We tell Mom Dad's sad, and she'll want to get him out of the house to," Zack brought his hands up to air-quote, smirking wickedly, "_get his mind off things._"

"Then they'll tell you to baby sit and we'll be alone for a good four hours at least," Ham enthused, bouncing his eyebrows up with a knowing smile.

Phil dropped back down onto the couch, exasperated.

"We'd better get to work," Zack assessed, already on his way out the door. Ham followed after.

The room was silent for a second or two after their departure, before Jaron leaned over towards Phil and asked quietly, "Want to watch Kitchen Disasters?"

"Heck yes," Phil said with great relief, practically breathless as he reached for the remote. Before his hand could even reach the coffee table, Zack bounded back into the room and grabbed him by his collar, jerking him off the couch with one determined yank. He yelled on his way out, as a frantic Phil stumbled and screeched, "You too, Jaron! Let's go, go, go, in search of ho, ho, ho!"

The sound of Amanda's giggle and Phil's groan came shortly after, and Jaron hesitated for only a second, before he shrugged and stood up, flicking the TV off. As he sauntered out of the room, he mused quietly to himself, "This should be interesting."

* * *

><p>The air was sharp, cutting through the thin fabric of their jackets as they tramped through the woods. The trees were slight, pathetic looking things in this part of the forest, and got thicker the further you went, revealing lush forest and terrified woodland animals. Ham led the small group with zest, jumping over fallen trees and clearing away branches to let everyone pass by unscathed. Every once in a while, one would slap Zack in the face, however. But then, some things just couldn't be helped.<p>

About halfway through the trek, Phil had gotten tired of mentally ranting to himself about what they were out here to do and just thrown himself to the dirt in despair. Anguished, he'd declared, "I can't go any further—you'll have to go on without me! My legs are like jell-o, I can't see straight, I, I…" Zack had let out a sigh and in a motion too swift for him to argue against grabbed him up off the ground and slung him over his shoulder, continuing on the path after Ham and Jaron. It had taken all of twelve seconds for Phil's shocked mind to process just what was happening, before the yelling had started and Zack had 'complied' and dropped him to the ground. Phil had been pouting ever since, but he didn't pull anymore stunts. Jaron tried a more reasonable approach.

"I hope you guys realize I do need to be getting home soon, my dad's coming to pick me up. I should really get back—"

"Not for hours, Jarry, he's still got work. You know that. Would everyone please stop trying to get out of this? It's just a tree."

"Easy for you to say, flesh-face," Phil grumbled under his breath, as Jaron looked around at the surrounding wilderness and frowned.

After a short hike up yet another hill and back down the other side, they came upon a small clearing, where a few fat cheerful-looking trees grew. Ham's face brightened at the sight, and he beckoned them all over, conveniently not looking where he was waving his arm. Zack, having been directly behind him, was nearly whacked in the face and he flapped his arms frantically at him, a frown digging into his face. Ham grinned his apology, in a not-very-regretful looking way.

Phil ignored the two as he climbed over a particularly massive log, careful to hold his unzipped jacket tightly about himself to keep it from snagging on anything as he passed. Once in the clearing, he looked around himself and decided, "I don't like it."

Twigs cracked and snapped behind the small boy as Ham came to stand beside him, eying the trees. "I don't know, they're a little patchy in places, but if we put it up against a wall it won't matter."

"No, not that," Phil negated tiredly, sweeping some hair out of his face as he exhaled. "This entire thing. The cutting trees down."

Zack came up between the two and wrapped an arm around Ham's shoulders, his other hand coming down to rest on Phil's as he gazed in deep satisfaction at the trees. "Not trees, Philly. Just one tree. Don't be a Scrooge." He inhaled the heady scent of pine and fresh air—true, real, outland, burn your nostrils off _air_—and a load seemed to melt off his shoulders. He grinned, eyes unwaveringly held by the trees. "It's all in the spirit of Christmas. A part of the festivities."

Phil's mouth turned into a grim line. He shrugged Zack's hand off, taking a step towards where Jaron stood observing the trees at the other end of the clearing. "Right. 'Cause taking an axe to a living thing and then positioning it's carcass in your living room so you can watch it slowly die is festive." Phil's face was dry as he droned, "Ho ho ho."

Zack looked down at him and blinked. "You forgot the part where we decorate it with pretty baubles and popcorn."

Phil threw a hand up, exclaiming, "Oh, of course!" With a snort he dropped the act and drooped forward, glaring at nothing in particular.

"Well," Ham hastened to change the subject, holding his hand out for Jaron to place the axe in his hand, "we've got Amanda back home doing arts and crafts—all we need's the tree. Which one's best?" Circling a particularly robust one, Ham put a thumb to his mouth, the rest of his fingers curled beneath his chin as he inspected it. It was a bit rough, not like the perfectly plush ones they often found being sold by the roads in the giant tents, with a large naked side of trunk exposed for all the world to see. Like it was wearing a bikini of pine needles and moss or something. In a way, it almost looked like something had come along and taken a bite out of it—Big Foot, perhaps, or Big Bird on crack who mistook it for a green corndog from a Dr. Seuss book. Of course, this is the part where the author gets lazy and starts making stuff up, you see.

The bottom was fat, though, the branches extended far out with a healthy, dark green shade. The tip was long, a bit too long, but that could be easily fixed, and in comparison to the rest of too thin, pathetically gaunt looking trees, it seemed like their best bet to Ham.

Zack was eying one of the thinner ones, however, a smirk resting on his face as he took in the sheer height of the tree, at perfect eye-level with himself. Zack was a tall guy, long-limbed – gangly, really – and with a plain face and messy hair that stuck up in odd directions. Seeing him on the street, you could pass right by him without ever having batted an eye in his direction, if it weren't for the fact he strutted around like he was George Clooney and Orlando Bloom's love child.

The tree was too thin, with yellow needles competing with light green and branches jutting out at seemingly random spots, but Zack looked at it as if it were blessed by God. Smugly, he pointed a finger at the tree and loudly opined, "I like this one."

Ham merely rolled his eyes, axe already posed to swing at the fatter one. "Of course you do." Bringing the axe down hard, he sent a fair gash into the wood.

Zack stared blankly as he chopped down the tree, eyes following each swing of the axe and cut of the wood. The silence didn't last very long, though, as it rarely did with Zack. "That looks like Godzilla's Christmas tree." Jaron snorted. Phil and Ham just ignored him.

After a few more hearty swings of the axe, the tree began to sway, and Ham jumped back with a startled yelp of, "Timber!"

The tree swayed to-and-fro precariously, and everyone gave it a wide berth. Phil all but ran and jumped behind a log, ducking down like it was going to burst into flames. Green eyes popped up from behind the tree the next second, staring in horror.

The tree swayed a few more seconds, back and forth, forth and back, all eyes glued to it's every lethargic movement… before it stopped on one side, and stayed, drooping.

Nobody blinked for a long time, unsure of what had just transpired, before Zack made everyone's thoughts known, "Well that was anticlimactic."

Ham sighed, giving the tree one last hard swing that seemed to decide it as it fell unceremoniously onto the ground, dirt bursting into the air around it with pine needles flying out like tiny missiles.

They all gathered around it, staring for a long while in awe at the fact they'd just chopped down a _tree_, when Phil muttered, "How are we going to get it home?"

All eyes turned to Jaron.

The boy blinked at the sudden attention, uncomfortable, before he sighed. "I'll think of something," he grumbled.

* * *

><p>"This wouldn't have happened if we'd gotten the thinner one. It would've been easy to carry."<p>

"Shut up, Zack."

The Christmas tree, as it was want to be called, stood crookedly at one side of the room, each branch either flat, broken, or void of pine needles now. One branch still stuck out proudly, though, right near the bottom with a few other sorry-looking branches extended out in all their patchy, half-naked glory. The one good branch held a particularly large snowflake made from light blue cardboard paper at the end, crafted with loving hands and a mind abundant with dreams of hearts and diamonds, apparently. And a lot of glitter. Sugar-plumbs be damned.

As it would turn out, after a lot of contemplation and a heap-load of denial, Jaron had sighed and told them what they'd all been afraid of. They'd have to carry it home, with it's fat, heavy trunk, pokey limbs, and sharp, sticky pine needles. In their enthusiasm for tree hunting, they hadn't thought very much ahead, and had neglected bringing something out to wrap the tree up, or help carry it through narrow, awkward mazes and paths back to their backyard. Even if they had, though, they all agreed they had no idea what they would bring, so in the end picking up the ridiculously cumbersome, bulky thing was inevitable. It didn't make it any less annoying, though.

Phil had given an indifferent, "I stinking told you," and then outright refused to have any further involvement with the project (even though no one had asked, as he resembled an elf in height and was not exactly ample in upper-body strength), and mostly just stood back and enjoyed the show as Zack nearly poked an eye out, twice, and Ham grunted and groaned a little louder with each step. Jaron tried to help in his usual hesitant nervousness, but ended up doing nothing but snapping the tip of the tree off. He'd stayed out of the way after that, as commanded, and Zack and Ham did their level-best to carry it back to the house.

That had lasted all of twelve steps, before Zack dropped it onto his foot by accident and ended up doubling over in pain. Ham grew fed up with the situation after that, and in his frustrated state began to _drag_ the ridiculous thing along the harsh, forest floor, over logs and rocks with nothing but pure adrenaline and the raw, senseless determination of an angsty fourteen-year-old boy. It wasn't until it was all said and done that they realized what a big mistake they'd made.

"This settles it. We're having a Charlie Brown family Christmas. Let's all go with it, pretend we did it like this on purpose."

Ham blinked. "Maybe we should make some paper chains and see if we can just… cover up the bad parts?" He winced.

Zack couldn't control the grin that sprung onto his face at the image his mind had conjured at that thought, and he uttered, strained, "Maybe we should get a big white sheet and just cover the thing all together. We can call it the Ghost of Christmas-What-Could-Have-Been." Ham turned his head to give him a look, and Zack pursed his lips against a laugh.

"This is just great," Phil felt the need to interject, eying the tree with both clear disdain and pity. "We dragged a corpse through the woods and let all the limbs get knocked off, then propped it up in our living room, and decorated it in paper and glitter." Trembling slightly, he raised his voice to a yell, throwing his arms out to gesture towards the tree, "We killed something, dismembered it, and then decorated it in hopes no one would notice!" He let his arms drop and swing at his sides, his face going flat. He muttered a final, "I'll never understand holiday customs," before sighing resolutely.

Zack snorted. "It's a tree, Phil. Stop trying to emo it up."

Phil blinked, dead-eyed. "I need a drink," he muttered, turning in the direction of the kitchen. Ham stared after him a few moments, watching as he left the room, bypassing Amanda who was standing in an uncharacteristic silence in the doorway. His mouth started to open as he turned his head back to Zack, before it closed abruptly and his face blanked at the sight of Zack trying to tape a stick to the nubby top of the tree, standing on the top step of a short ladder in wobbly ballet formation. Ham asked blankly, "What are you doing?"

"Fixing what Jaron broke," Zack said quietly, focusing intensely on his task with his tongue peeking out through the side of his mouth. He wrapped the tape around and around carefully, before ripping his teeth into it to break it off from the roll.

Jaron, sitting at the other side of the room on the couch, frowned ever so slightly, and if anyone had bothered to look close enough, might say his face got a little darker, but otherwise he gave no reaction.

Amanda tilted her head to the right, ear almost reaching her shoulder, and asked lightly, "Why is it all broken?"

Ham flushed with shame at Zack's immediate answer, "Josh lost his Josh-ness for a second and decided the tree looked like a good wrestling partner."

"I did not," Ham sighed, before turning his head to Amanda. With a carefully blank look, he said, "We had no way to get it home fast enough so I ended up having to drag it. And I… admittedly may have lost my temper a little."

"A little," Zack guffawed. Jumping down from the ladder, he bounded over and stated grandly, gesticulating ridiculously as he went, "You were like Attila the Hun. Mouth foaming, eyes blazing red, horns poking out from your floofy hair—"

"That isn't… That's not even…" Ham gaped at him. Shaking himself, he narrowed his eyes slightly and tersely stated, "Whatever."

Zack softened at the look and put an arm around his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake as he gestured to the tree. "Hey, the important thing is the tree is here. Let's just make the best of it. We can make this work."

"How," Ham asked miserably, watching in guilt as a branch that had been hanging finally just dropped off and clunked to the floor.

He caught something in his peripheral vision then, and looked over to see Zack grinning too wide and holding up a roll of clear duct tape. Ham rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but crack a small, begrudging half-smile as Zack yelled out in a poor French accent, twirling the duct tape around on one finger, "We'll make a tree out of you yet, dahling."

Phil walked in at that moment and shoved a cup of hot chocolate in Ham's hand, before plopping down into his chair and taking a long sip of his own. Ham stared down at the cup in shock, before looking incredulously over to Phil. Zack did as well, along with Amanda and Jaron. After a few moments, Phil noticed the stares and snapped his head around at them all, offended. "_What_? It calms the nerves."

Zack grinned and grabbed around the back of his chair, his free hand coming down to ruffle his mop of brown hair. "Now you're getting into the spirit, Philly!"

Phil swatted him away with a growl, irritated. Zack chuckled warmly and left, blessedly, leaving Phil to grip white-knuckled to his mug and glare at the corner of the coffee table, hair disheveled. "And then people wonder why I never do anything 'nice,'" he grumbled, taking an especially large gulp of his cocoa.

* * *

><p>The next couple hours were a flurry of duct tape, cardboard paper, lights, and Christmas carols. Phil had refused to help decorate the tree, but he had no qualms against decorating the rest of the house (or at least not many).<p>

So, with everyone's help, Christmas lights were weaved down stair rails, leaves taped together and strung from paper chains of cherry red and forest green, and snowflakes cut out from varying shades of blue. Zack found some old white candles in the attic that they placed on the tables and stuck in heavy iron candleholders that looked almost like antiques.

Putting up lights outside proved to be a slightly more daunting task than they'd anticipated, though, and—unable to find the ladder—ended up just bordering the front door in lights, using the smallest nails they could possibly find for the job. The potted flower Phil kept in his room was brought out to sit on the coffee table, the lights in Zack's room taken down for use, Amanda's old red bed sheets that she never used brought down and laid out over the couch, and Ham's laptop brought down and hooked up to the TV, putting a video of a crackling fire on repeat.

The overall effect was very Christmas-y, they all thought, even if it did look exactly like a bunch of kids were the culprits. And also had an inordinate amount of time on their hands.

Staring down at the red daisy on the table, Zack had to ask, a bit confounded, "Didn't you used to have a purple flower or something?"

"Yeah," Phil acknowledged, currently in the process of tying one of Amanda's old ribbons on the front of the TV stand. "It died. They tend to do that."

Zack snorted at that, and continued to stare a short time more at the flower, before another question popped out unbidden, "Where do you keep getting all these flowers?"

Phil paused in his work at that, for just a moment, before his answer came out, laden with irony, "Your girlfriend keeps giving them to me for free. She's working at the flower shop now, you know."

Zack grimaced, choosing to end the conversation there. Sophie had only started working there last week, from what she'd told him in their last text conversation—looked like she was doomed to another firing soon. Whistling out a long breath, he let his hands fall uselessly into his lap as he dropped back onto the couch. "Well, I guess we're about done then," he announced, a little too brightly. "Anything missing?"

Ham came strolling sedately into the room, and jumped up suddenly in the doorway to slap his hand against the top, sending the homemade mistletoe there swinging. "Nope," he answered with a smile, surveying their work approvingly. Blinking then, he looked over to Zack and Phil and asked, "Where's Amanda?"

Pinkie chose that moment to caper into the room, throwing a handful of sparkles in her wake and giggling as they fell, glinting like fairy dust in the light. "We needed more glitter," Amanda informed them brightly, clasping her hands in front of herself as flecks still shone at the ends of her hair. Zack's lips parted in a small grin at the same moment Phil scoffed. Ham walked over to Amanda and hoisted her up, walking over to sit next to Zack on the couch and plop her in between them.

"Nothing left to do but wait. Mom and Dad should be home soon," Ham surmised, straightening his legs out in front of himself. Zack propped his feet up, relaxing back as all worries cleared from his brow. Zenly, he smiled, reaching over to grab Amanda to himself as he agreed, "I believe you would be right about that, dear brother." Amanda snuggled into him, pleasantly tired.

Meanwhile Phil collapsed backwards onto the rug, arms spreading out on either sides of himself as he released a long breath. "This was pointless. Mom's probably already cheered him up anyway. I told you guys this was a stupid idea."

"You think any idea that goes against you watching TV is a stupid idea," Zack said without malice, merely stating a fact. He smiled then, sharing an almost secretive look with Amanda, like what he was about to divulge was some great conspiracy. "Besides, Mom can only solve so much for so long. She's just the Band-Aid, we're the antibiotics."

"That has got to be one of the most moronic statements I have ever heard."

"I have trouble believing that."

"I'm just saying," Phil sighed, sitting up on his elbows as he looked contemptuously over towards them, eyes hooded and flat, "everyone gets in a bad mood sometimes and it wasn't like it was slow in coming. It didn't build up into a deep, soul-searing depression that only the aid of a nude tree covered in tape and sloppily hung strips of paper could solve. It was random, and in the middle of the day. He probably just didn't have coffee this morning… or he got stuck in the bathroom without toilet paper for half an hour."

"Yeah, sure, except Dad's always happy. I mean, always. Right?" Zack looked skeptically over to Ham, who nodded his agreement. Shaking his head, Zack continued, "And he just snapped out of nowhere, for no reason. He never does that. Obviously something's been bothering him. Not everyone just shouts their problems from the tops of buildings like you, Phil. Most of us are a little more subtle."

"I do not—" Phil started to yell, before he coughed and lowered his voice to a soft utter, lifting his chin up ever so slightly with closed eyes, "I mean, that is not true."

Zack smirked his response, broadly. Phil just groaned and fell back onto the floor, pantomiming an anguished death with his hands clutched around his throat. Amanda laughed out loud, clapping her hands as she scooted to the edge of the couch. Zack, with his arms stretched out across the back of the couch, playfully rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop."

"Goodbye, cruel world, the stupid has finally killed me," Phil cried out, frantic hands tracing shapes in the air, eyes glassy. "It wasn't very nice knowing you when I did, but, I made it longer than I thought I would, so, I guess that's something." He dropped his arms down suddenly, coughing raggedly from the exertion of his struggles with the afterlife.

"Oh, yes, why must the ridiculously irritating die young," Zack played along, sniffling as he wiped a fat, invisible tear from his cheek. He paused then, half his brow extending up as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Oh, wait, that's not a bad thing."

Phil stopped immediately at that, and grabbed his ankle up to wrestle his shoe off. Before Zack could wonder at what he was doing, a shoe was suddenly sailing at his head and he ducked with a shout. Phil just sat on the floor, glaring at him. "Why is it every time you open your mouth," he asked sourly, accusing, "a part of my soul dies?"

Zack's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "You have a soul?"

The other shoe went flying, this time hitting him square in the chest. He coughed out a laugh, picking the shoe up from his lap to examine mockingly. "I assume you were aiming for my face? Might want to give up those dreams of becoming the next Michael Jordan, kiddo." Phil's face went flat. Amanda just laughed again, reaching up to pluck the shoe from Zack's hand and hold it close for safekeeping.

The (sorta-not-really) peace that descended on them was interrupted when the front door opened and closed, and they heard Jaron call, "I fixed the lights. Someone didn't think to use twisty ties. Good thing Pam had some."

"Yeah, I'm the best, aren't I?"

Zack's head snapped up at the female voice and he sprung up from his seat with a whispered exclamation of, "Crap," before he all but threw himself to the ground and tried to scuttle under the coffee table. Leg awkwardly stuck out, and fingers and face hard against the carpet, he did his best to level out his breathing to a silent in-out-in-out. Eyes like plates, he looked over to find himself face-to-face with Phil, who was now laying on his side with his hand supporting his head. Phil smirked. "Hey there, Subtle."

The sounds of footsteps grew closer before they abruptly stopped, and Zack felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up with the _knowing_. That horrible, six-sense _awareness_ you had that someone was there, even though you hadn't looked. And then it came, awkwardly, "Is this a bad time or…?"

From where he was, he saw Phil grin, wide and blithe and just plain _mean_. "On the contrary, I'd say it's the best time."

He could almost hear the confused blinking. "Um. Zackass… I can literally see your ass, you know. You suck at hide-n-seek."

Zack grimaced, pushing himself out from under the table in an unhurried yet painfully ungainly fashion. Once out, he breathed a sigh of relief, avoiding Phil's predictable smirk. Falling back onto his butt, he smiled tranquilly at Pam and pulled his legs to himself, folding them in front of himself, as if he hadn't just been hiding under the table to avoid any interaction with her. "Hey, Sam."

Pam's confused face went flat. "Pam."

"Right. Sure, Sam."

Pam blinked, emotionless. "Yeah." Turning her eyes to meet Ham's blue eyes, she immediately snapped them to the wall and changed topic, "Anyway, I saw you guys decorating and all and just thought I'd ask what was up. I thought you were all going over to your grandparents for Christmas."

"We are," Ham chose to answer, giving her a friendly smile even as she refused to make eye contact. "We just thought..." looking between everyone else, he shrugged slightly and neutrally finished, "well, why not?"

Pam stared at the half-naked Christmas tree in the corner, covered in chains and snowflakes with the very tip tied in a neat, bright pink bow that drooped ever so slightly to the left, and had to raise an eyebrow. "Uh-huh." Eager to end the topic, she flicked her eyes to Zack and said in a pleasant enough tone, "Well, fair warning, your dad invited me over for the Secret Santa or something, so I guess I'll be dropping by. Just wanted to make sure it was still on." She turned to leave after that, but Zack yelled out a horrified, "Wait!"

She didn't stop at first, but then her footsteps sounded again, and there she was standing in the doorway again, looking annoyed. "What?"

Zack found he couldn't articulate very well past a hoarse utter of, "_Why_," but he didn't care.

It took her a second, but then she seemed to understand what he was asking and she shrugged. "I guess your dad's still feeling guilty over the fact he, you know, created you. As he well should be. So he's trying to make it up to me by inviting me to do stuff." Seeing his dumbstruck expression, she took a step back from the room, face wry. "See you at school, Mack." She rolled her eyes then and swiftly departed, not giving him enough time to respond before the front door was slamming shut. They all knew what she really meant, though, and Zack was at least grateful she hadn't ratted him out to Amanda. Peeping Tom, indeed. He was going to have to have a long talk with his dad before the month was out.

A few seconds had passed after her rushed departure, when Phil brightly said, "That went better than anticipated."

Looking over at him, Zack choked slightly on air, before his voice lowered to a strained, "This was your doing?"

Phil sniffed slightly, offering a modest shrug. "Well, it was Dad's idea. But I may have encouraged him, just a little. Or a lot. I forget." He smirked. "You know that whole karma person Ham likes to talk about?" He waved his hand by in one smooth glide, eyes half-mast and sardonic. "Hi."

Zack slammed back on the floor, groaning. There went the holidays.

"Ah, come on, Zacky, where's your Christmas spirit?" Phil asked in a snotty, sarcastic tone, an exaggeration of his own voice.

Zack covered his eyes. "Shut up, Phil."

* * *

><p>The road was quiet this time of night, the surrounding trees canvassed in black, glowing against the white of the moon. The dim light of the headlights kept the front of the old car in bright view, cutting through the black to showcase a gray, cracked road and fading yellow lines. Arnold sniffed slightly in his seat, reaching up to run his sleeve over his nose. "It's cold," Arnold noted.<p>

Helga turned her eyes over to look at him a moment, taking in his shadowed features and jellybean green eyes. She smirked slightly, reaching over to run a hand down his arm. "I don't know, I'm still feeling pretty warm."

The shadows around his cheeks seemed to darken, and she pulled her hand away with a sly smile. Gripping the steering wheel, she tapped her fingers there a few moments as they drove in silence, before she suddenly reached down in between the seats and pulled a bag out, throwing it in his arms. "Here, the food's still warm. Knock yourself out."

Seeing movement from the corner of her eye, she glanced over to see Arnold pretending to whack himself in the forehead. Her eyebrows shot up incredulously, and Arnold let his hand drop with a quiet chuckle. She schooled her features and dryly asked, "Spending a bit too much time with Phil there?"

Arnold hugged the food to himself and let out a breath, watching it dance in front of his face. "I took him and Josh fishing yesterday. Before the lakes freeze over."

Helga smiled tenderly, reaching over to squeeze his knee. "See? You're a great dad, Arnold."

Arnold offered a small smile, appreciating her words. He sighed then, reaching over to take her hand in his. He stared down at it, running his thumb over the smooth softness he found there. "Yeah. I don't know." He looked out the window, watching the trees blur past his unfocused eyes. His voice lowered, softer, "I just wish I could give them more than I can. Zack's going to be gone in two years, and Josh won't be too long after. And then Phil…" He let go of her hand, reaching up to rub the pad of his hand against his closed eyes. "You know his teenage years are going to kill us."

Helga snorted, shuddering. "Oh, God, don't remind me."

Arnold stared up at the ceiling of the car, his head having rested back against the seat. "He won't ever want to talk anymore, he won't want to bond or go fishing and his therapy bill will go up." He heard Helga chuckle lightly beside him. His face went grave. "And then he'll be gone, just like that. Amanda will want to have a boyfriend and go to prom and then she'll be gone, too, off to college and to get a job and we'll be left in the dust."

"Right, like our parents were," Helga said sarcastically, and all the weekly visits flashed across his mind. He massaged the side of his face. It wouldn't be the same. They were both pathetically dependent people, and they both knew it. No matter how many times Helga cried that she hated her parents when she was a teenager and even a few times while she was an adult, she'd never be able to cut them out of her life—she needed them there, in all their dysfunction and ridiculousness, because screwed up or not, they were hers, and they fit. Arnold as well wouldn't trade his parents for a hundred happy lifetimes, but that was a bit of a given, all things considered. They couldn't bear to _completely_ leave their families behind, no matter how annoying, which was why they'd made sure not to move too far out of the city. But it was different with their kids.

"They're so independent, Helga," Arnold nearly whined. Checking himself, he gripped either side of the bag in his lap and trained his eyes on the road. "Josh wants to go to that college in Japan, and then thanks to Mom and Dad he wants to go off exploring to God-knows-where. I wouldn't be surprised if Phil wanted to relocate himself to Hollywood or something and never came back—and Amanda, she could do anything, go anywhere, and you know she will." His eyes rolled up slightly then. "And Zack, Zack'll end up out of state for college and, hell, who knows with him? He could be a Canadian before he hits twenty-one."

"Hm, he does love maple syrup," Helga muttered absentmindedly, focusing on the street signs. Turning sharply as Lake Drive came into view, Arnold felt himself slam into the door handle and grunted. Once they were driving down straight road again, Helga smiled and looked over to him, eyes twinkling with irony. "Isn't that all what we've been aspiring towards, though, Football Head? Give them everything we never had, instill the confidence to fucking _leave_, and then have the house to ourselves again at last? Nice and peaceful…" Shaking his shoulder, he looked over at her in surprise, finding her wide-eyed and almost pleading. "Think of the menopause, Arnold. _The menopause_."

He blinked, twisting his face slightly and hoping the shadows hid enough of his face that she couldn't tell. Shaking his head, he patted her hand on his shoulder and she took it back hesitantly. "I know. And when we moved out here I was relieved to have some peace and quiet, but now. Things are different. They are, aren't they? We always knew we'd love our kids but not… not like this." He shook his head, feeling a pit ache deep in his stomach. He let out a shaky breath, rippling white puffs in front of his face. He didn't notice.

As the car pulled up into their driveway and clicked off, they found themselves encompassed in thick black, in more ways than one. The car was quiet for a long while, before Helga clicked a light on and turned her head to look at her husband. He looked troubled, and more his age than he ever had before, eyes trained ahead on nothing. Helga knew her husband, knew how he'd always wanted a family—he'd given up so much for this, for them. He could have been an adventurer himself, scouring Central America for treasures and artifacts beyond his wildest dreams. He could have been ambassador to some foreign, incredible place far off, signing important documents and making history.

Instead right out of high school, hand held tight in hers, he'd gone to a college close by to stay with her, and after months of soul-searching and long walks found his passion in teaching children, with a minor in psychology and foreign affairs. They'd stayed at the boarding house for a while after that, before a pregnancy test read positive and they started saving up for a house. It wasn't very long before they were settling down in a quiet neighborhood, with two kids by that time, just far enough away to suit and exceptionally beautiful, the perfect place to raise a family. He could have had a different life, a more exciting future, but instead he'd chosen her. And even after all this time, his only regret that was it would have to end someday. She didn't think it was possible for her to love him more but as always, he proved her wrong.

He was right, too. She had been doing her best to make him feel better and ease whatever sting he'd been feeling regardless of her true opinion on the matter, but the truth needed to be acknowledged. Their kids were pains on most days, but she could still see them as they were, laying in their cribs half-asleep and gazing up at her in awe. Wild blond hair and bright blue eyes, too energetic, too many tears, always needing to be held. A tiny football shaped head hidden beneath scraggly gold and blue knitting, constantly sniffling and scaring the wits out of her when he tried to climb out of his crib. Startling maple hair with emerald eyes that perfectly resembled her beloved's, loving and whiny and forever clinging to her neck and pulling at her hair. And then sunshiny, smooth locks and big, innocent jellybeans for eyes, stubborn and sweet and always in wonder of everything, always hugging people and laughing just enough. Each one perfect and beautiful and eternally making her the Ibuprofen company's bitch. She was scared of them growing up, too.

But she knew they'd never leave them behind, especially not Amanda or Zack and hell, even Phil was a clingy little thing. They'd always be around, and she knew it. She just wished she knew how to make Arnold see it, how to soothe the worried creases from his brow and make him see what a wonderful dad he was, how much their kids adored him. Apparently mind-blowing sex wasn't enough to convince him for very long, and really, once the biggest gun in your arsenal is used up and the enemy's still standing, what the hell can you do?

Releasing a melancholy sigh, she reached over and hugged him about his shoulders, resting her head on his shoulder. "Arnold, about the money…"

Arnold shook his head. "Helga, I offered to take them out for lunch and they looked at me like I was from another planet. Do I really never do anything nice for them like that?"

Helga gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Arnold, you don't need money and pricey cheeseburgers to show them you love them. The important thing is that you're doing what you love, and between the teaching, and the books, and Bob's store, we're okay. We're more than okay. We're just sensible about it. You get ice cream with them all the time and pay for their field trips and, you know, you got Ham those new books just last week." She tilted her head up to smile at him, but he didn't look down, still stiff but listening. "They're good, healthy, socially active kids, and that's thanks to you, thanks to us. You're the gentle, nurturing father figure and I'm the stern, badass mom that puts them in their place when they go too far." Kissing his shoulder, she finished softly, "We've got a good thing going for us, and it's working. How could you ever think they'd forget about us?"

She could feel the tension draining out of his shoulders little by little, guilt and fear puddling at his feet, but still some remained, and it came out as he quietly fretted, "Phil never hugs me anymore. Hasn't for a long time. Where are we going wrong there? Or Ham… wanting to be called _Ham_." He sighed.

Helga chuckled, lifting her head up to smirk at him slightly, bemused. "Phil will be Phil and Josh will be Ham. They've got problems to sort out and we know they do, but it's fine 'cause we'll be there for them every step of the way." She buried her nose in the side of his neck, inhaling. He still smelled exactly the same, an essence of herbal with just a hint of spice. She knew he knew she'd kill him if he ever changed it, but she still thought it was romantic of him to keep using it for her.

A few moments passed, before he turned his head to smirk at her a little. "Why, Helga, I think you've finally gotten the hang of this whole good-natured, nurturing thing. I feel so much better."

Helga rolled her eyes slightly and leaned her forehead against his, murmuring, "I learned from the best." Arnold hummed in response. Neither knew who closed the distance first, but soon their lips were pressed softly together, both of them relaxing into each other in perfect harmony. The food between them kept them both warmer than usual as they struggled to press closer together, soft moans escaping Helga as Arnold's hands fumbled at her back, holding her tightly against him by her shoulder blades.

Pulling back after a few long moments, Helga brought her hands from his hair to around his neck, nuzzling the side of his head as she sighed, her breath ghosting down the side of his neck and making him shiver. Very softly, she whispered, "Do you ever regret it?"

If she hadn't been right by his ear, he may not have heard her. Running his hands down her back, he asked gently, "Regret what?"

She sighed again, the warm, heavy air hitting him in the shoulder this time, and he smiled slightly despite himself. "You know," she said, almost timid, "me… our family… I mean, I know you love us now," she rolled her eyes slightly, "obviously, but you could have gone off and done so much. Been just like your parents." He shifted in her arms, but she kept her eyes down and arms tight around him, not letting him look at her. "Had adventure," she swallowed, breathing scarce, "excitement… mystery…"

He scared the living daylights out of her when he laughed suddenly, loud and beautiful and entirely irritating. "Oh, Helga, the insecurity was cute at the beginning but now," he chuckled, getting slightly more high-pitched near the end before he took a quick breath to control himself. Still, his voice remained thick with mirth, "You are all the excitement and mystery I will ever need. All I can _handle_, I think. Every day's an adventure with you and our family. How could I ever regret that?" He coughed slightly on another laugh, face twisted in a small grin. "Save for the few times I've just wanted to lay down on the floor and go to sleep, anyway."

The response was immediate. The food was cast aside in favor of her throwing herself in his arms, nearly smashing his head back against the window from the force of her embrace. Pulling back from her frantic kisses the best he could manage, he gave a strained laugh, rubbing his head. "This is exactly what I'm talking about." She growled against his lips at that, pushing herself closer, "Shut the hell up and put those lips back to work, you infuriatingly perfect man." Before he could laughingly respond to that, she pressed herself back against him, sweeping all thoughts of amusement from his mind.

After an unknown amount of time, Helga pulled back breathlessly and panted, working to blindly catch buttons on his shirt and pull them free, "I think they can handle ten more minutes to themselves."

Arnold gulped, trying to be sensible as he whispered, "The food'll get cold."

Helga snorted at that, choking out a laugh as she pushed the jacket from his shoulders. "Please, in this furnace?"

Taking a shallow, shaky breath, he grabbed her wrists suddenly and looked up at her desperately. "Helga, I'm going to take you to Paris someday. I don't have the money now, but someday, I promise you—" She shut him up when she slammed her mouth against his, and his hands loosened enough around her wrists that she could move them back down to his shirt, slowly, in measured, loving movements freeing him of the last few buttons of his shirt. Once it was open, she wrapped her arms around his bare torso, biting his lip by accident in her eagerness. They broke away with a breathless laugh, and she took advantage of the respite to whisper, loosening her arms from him, "I don't care about Paris right now. I care about you, and getting you out of those pants. Now shut up already and get your ass in the back, Football Head, before I end up having to explain to our kids why their father's standing naked outside in thirty-degree weather."

Arnold laughed, more than happy to obey.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Ugh, I can't even tell if any of this is funny anymore. I've been working on it for too long. It's all bleeding together. *Facepalm*

Okay, second part will be posted when I deem it time. It has Arnold's reaction to what zey did, and skips ahead to actual Christmas at the boarding house with everyone then. Secret Santas, accordion music by Ernie, and grandparents... Shortman and Pataki grandparents, together, in the same house... So yeah, that's fun. xD

**Regarding Phil's chapter:** Like I said, I finished the outline, but I didn't want to start writing it before I'd gotten over my writer's block... Really more like writer's strain. I have ideas but they're just not coming out right. I'm sure you can tell here from the beginning of this that I was having issues... I think I'm pretty much over it now, though. I hope. Nyehhh. Philliam's first chapter will be up sometime in January. It picks up where I left off with Zack's, and he's trying to get his revenge on him. So yes, fun, fun, fun. XD

And now, if anyone remembers, I said that **writergirl** and I were going to do, like, a Q&A type deal? Well, since I've been so busy, that kinda got cancelled... Idk if I ever told you guys that. Sorry. D: So I'll just answer them here (FINALLY, sorry for delay, and LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYONE):

**Q - Umm I am kinda confused about their ages how old are the Shortman Kids?**

**A -** Zack's 16, Ham's 14, Phil is 11, and Amanda is 7. Their ages might and will vary in certain chapters, though, as I switch around. I have a ridiculous amount of their lives already planned out, so sometimes I just need to... get that out. XD

**Q - (i dont know if you watch trueblood? especially season 4 with eric and sookie?) welllll i was thinking maybe zack and pam could be like eric and sookie hate/want each other to the point of getting together? not as graphic as though... food for thought? maybe? yes? no?**

**A -** Hot question, hot question! LOL. I don't watch Trueblood but I see what you're saying. It's just... Zack is in love with Sophie, and Pam barely even tolerates him at the moment, let alone wants him, and vice versa (just in case I haven't beaten that horse enough to kill it yet, lol), so it's unlikely anything'll happen. That _could_ change, though, maybe... It's obvious there's potential there but it's iffy, for obvious reasons. Originally they were never meant to have chemistry, but it happened, and it's really screwed up. XD We'll just have to wait and see what happens with them. There's a lot of stuff in the way, so it could shoot either direction. I guess, overall, easy concept, difficult reality... Stay tuned. ;D xDD**  
><strong>

**Q - Arnold and Helga realyy doesn't know what happened to Zack or they doesn't talk about it for some reason?**

**A -** Oooh, that's a complicated question... *Takes deep breath* Okay. Let's see. Well, I think Arnold and Helga definitely noticed something different about him when it was going on... But Zack viewed home as a safe haven, so whenever he was there he didn't act SO unusual—relieved, if anything. It was just small things, more of a feeling than any serious change. Like hugs became scarce (but he wasn't THAT huggy to begin with at 9), he looked at people a little more distrustfully, he got quieter, and he was kinda passive aggressive around them, but nothing seriously serious. Nothing you could pinpoint, especially since it went on over a period of a few months, so it was like this slow descent. He was trying to pretend it wasn't happening, I think, but it was hard and it affected him regardless. He just didn't want anyone to know about it. He was scared, and humiliated, and he felt trapped, and when people feel like that, they'll do everything they can to stay safe, even if it's irrational.

So yeah, I do think they noticed something but they didn't really say anything 'cause they weren't ENTIRELY sure, and they wanted him to come to them about it (they were still kinda new to being parents, you have to keep in mind, and he'd never had a real problem before August. He was always pretty happy and content. It was a first for everyone). You know, they didn't want to force it out of him, and they didn't suspect it was as big a deal as it was (who would've?). I think they just thought he was getting picked on and it made him kinda defensive, like Helga (which is something they were expecting of him, I think). But then it passed and once it was all over and done, they just waved it off as a phase, or figured he'd taken care of it himself (which he did). So that was kinda the end of it. :I I do think they still feel funny about it, though... Sorry for the ridiculously long answer.

**Q - SuprSingr- what do you prefer writing, poetry/songs(?) or FanFics**

**A -** Oh... dear God. XD Uh... well, songs I do without thinking, really... they just kinda come out of me. Like gas. And they're rarely very good, even after writing like a bazillion of them in my life (funny thing about gas: it comes naturally and you'll always do it, but it'll also always stink). Writing fanfics is definitely the most time-consuming of them, but it's the one I'm the best at... So, fanfics, I suppose. xD

**Q - Zack- does anything actually scare you?**

**A - Zack: **Ahahahaha... no. *Checks to make sure the coast is clear* ...Well, okay. Between you and me, raspberries do kinda unnerve me. Just a little. It's from all the years of being warned off of them... I'm wary, I'll put it that way.

**Q - Ham- why are you so freakin' obsessed with sports an working out and stuff?**

**A - Ham: **Uh... 'cause I enjoy it? I don't know if I'd call myself obsessed, though. I just... have a lot of energy I need to get out. That's all.**  
><strong>

**Q - Phil- what do you enjoy more, acting or directing?**

**A - Phil:** I've acted once and directed none... I can't answer this question very well, can I? Movies are my passion—any form of being involved with them would make me happy.

**Q - Amanda- other than Chris, who is your least favorite classmate?**

**A - Amanda: **Oh... I don't want to be mean, but I also don't want to be rude and not answer you. So, um, well, not naming any names, but there is this red-headed girl in my class who causes mischief a lot... and talks back, and makes jokes that can be kinda rude. She's a little annoying sometimes. Not anything like Chris, but. OH, and he's not in my class, but he hangs around with Chris a lot and his name is Duke Caudell. He's HORRIBLE. If you ever see him, run!

**Q -** **everyone- Y U SO AWESOME?  
><strong>

**A - Everyone:** GOOD JEANS. *All sporting designer jeans*

**Q - YO, Phil, Y U SO SHORT? Y U NO WEAR STILTS?**

**A - Phil: **...I will find you.

**Q - This question is for Arnold and Helga: ****I have to say you guys are awesome parents and you really have your hands full. I'd suggest taking that trip for two to Paris asap lol Anyway all four of your kids are very hilarious and unique. How do you keep up with them especially Phil when he is in rant mode?**

**A - Arnold:** I'M TRYING.

**Helga:** Ugh, great. Paris will come, Arnold, cool your jets. As for the question, well, we always ask them how their days went and try to get everything out on the table. They don't always want to talk about things, but if you're persistent and let them know you're there, they always come sooner or later. Whether it's to us or their grandparents or the boarders, it comes out somewhere. We have the benefit of having a lot of people around to help us out. They're pretty self-sufficient kids, though, so I try not to worry too much. They've got good heads on their shoulders. As for Phil, though, well... Phil is... is...

**Arnold:** Uh, a special snowflake.

**Helga:** Right, what the Simmons wannabe said. And normally, he is pretty calm. It's just when someone makes him angry or says one of his trigger words (Dr. Bliss' word, not mine), which Zack and everyone seems to... like to do. He rarely goes off on us, though, but when he does he usually apologizes. Or tries to anyway.

**Arnold:** You just have to let him get it all out and then he'll be back to normal. It's Helga's passion coming out there, it's a force to be reckoned with... Trust me. *Gets pushed by Helga* _After it's out_, though, a cup of tea and a good movie usually calms him right down.

**Helga:** And we keep weapons out of the way—

**Arnold:** That too.

**Phil: **You realize I'm right here...

**Helga:** Yes, and we love you very much, Snowflake.

**Q - To the Shortman kids: What is your favorite holiday and why?**

**A - Zack: **CHRISTMAS**  
><strong>

**Ham: **Wow.**  
><strong>

**Phil: **Gee, didn't see that one coming.**  
><strong>

**Zack: **Oh, shut it. You're all just jealous I said it first.**  
><strong>

And that's all I got. If anyone's ever curious about anything, I've always got answers. :P Happy Holidays to y'all now, ya hear? And good luck on your resolutions. XD :D

_**REVIEW!**_


	19. Of Godzilla and Mistletoe: Part 2

**A/N: **...So this is awkward... I could give a long list of reasons this didn't end up getting edited, revised and posted a long time ago, but that'd only be wasting all of our time and postponing the inevitable readage. Plus I just woke up as I write this so I can't really... talk, or think, very well at the moment. Lol... "Lol" has become a word to me now, Idk what that's about.

Anyway, if you've come here expecting a big cliche happy-happy Christmas morning with gifts and waking-the-parents-up-too-early and footy pajamas and "OMFG I GOT AN F-ING TRAIN SET IMMA CRY" and all that... no. I'm not the one to get that from. xD I just skipped over all that, so you can dream up whatever you want that happened in that... that... I can't think of the word, so I'm going to settle very unsatisfied on "period of time."

Well, I won't postpone you any longer, dear reader. Go on ahead. :) OH, and if anyone's wondering about my Reviewer Mentions, I'm starting those back up in Phil's chapter. ^_^ And you know if getting mentioned makes you uncomfortable, you can always tell me not to put you up. XD As usual, thank you so much for the support! You guys make me so happy, it's probably a little unhealthy. xD

Well, hope you enjoy the SHOCKING conclusion to "Of WTF Are You Even Doing and How Could You Have Ever Thought This Was a Good Title." Have a wonderful day and a love-filled Valentines. :D

**Disclaimer: **I own Zachary Shortman, Phillip Shortman, Ham Shortman, Amanda Shortman, Sophie Carpenter, and Jaron Johanssen. Pamella Idleberry is a collaboration between Panfla and myself.

* * *

><p><strong>Life with the Shortmans<strong>

**Of Godzilla and Mistletoe**

**Part 2**

* * *

><p>After shutting the car off and deciding Helga should be the one on microwave duty, the couple started down the short path from the driveway to the door, caught in a state of contentedness and pleasantly warm for a few precious seconds before they both froze mid-step.<p>

Helga's wide eyes blinked, as her mouth breathed without her permission, "What... the hell?"

There were colorful Christmas lights lining the door that they'd been too distracted to notice before, a little dim in places and flickering in others, along with a head-sized dark blue snowflake hanging in the center of the door. After a couple seconds more of staring, they both exchanged a look at this, and Arnold asked quietly, "You don't think he threw a party while we were away?"

"No," Helga responded slowly, cautiously finishing the small walk to the front door with her eyes cut in suspicion, "he wouldn't dare. And even if he did, he wouldn't make it so obvious. He's learned his lesson on that front, that's for damn sure."

Arnold made a small sound of halfhearted agreement as he followed behind her warily, sweeping his eyes up and over the rest of the house the best he could from the awkward angle. Zack always tried to pull some stunt around his birthday, and though it wasn't anywhere near then, they wouldn't put it past him. This could always be a trick of some sort, some cleverly devised plan to celebrate when they would least suspect it. He _had_ seemed awfully eager to see him out of the house. He had long learned not to underestimate his son's deviousness, and would be wholly unsurprised if they _had_ come home to the house burnt to ashes and a bunch of teenagers hooting around it roasting marshmallows and weenies.

But thankfully the house seemed fine… no screaming teenagers, no underwear hanging out windows from flagpoles, no signs of spray paint or Phil clinging to the roof for dear life; he'd ended up there on Zack's thirteenth somehow, though they still didn't have the faintest clue how. Upon asking a terror-stricken Phil, who was doing nothing but staring into space and twitching, all they'd managed to get out of him was a haunted murmur of, "So many… eggs…" Which really had only raised more questions. And made Helga ten times more livid.

Ham had come home from a sleepover with a friend only to find them screaming at Zack as he sat on an upside down couch, and had immediately called his friend again to come pick him back up. And Amanda, dear sweet Amanda, had been hiding out in Phil's room for the entire ordeal and most of the day after the fact, and Phil was so out of it that he hadn't even complained. No one would forget that day, least of all Zack, so this couldn't be… Not again. He wasn't _that_ stupid.

The sound of the lock clicking open snapped him back to the present just in time to watch as Helga opened the door slightly, finding the place pitch black. She turned her wide eyes back to look at him. "Oh, criminy, you don't think someone died, do you?"

Arnold had to roll his eyes at her for that and made a point of stepping past her, opening the door the rest of the way. Looking across the way then, their eyes widened further. There was a light of some sort near the… or, _on_ the staircase. Upon closer inspection they found that it was more Christmas lights, these small and white and looking an awful lot like the ones Zack had in his room. Arnold quietly shut the door after them, placing a protective hand on Helga's shoulder as they ventured further into the house. They paused then, listening a second. Hearing nothing, they proceeded further a bit more calmly, before they reached the doorway of the living room and stopped dead.

There was so much going on at once they didn't know where to focus their eyes first. Helga's eyes went first to the tree, before darting down to their snoring children all piled on the sofa, before they snapped back to the tree again and she squinted. "Is that my bow?" She shook herself then, palming her eyes. "Okay, stupid first question. Let me try that again. Why is there a tree in our house?"

Arnold just stared, unable to form a suitable response. The tree was nearly bare, with sticks poking out from seemingly random spots that were completely coated in silvery and golden glitter, which was currently twinkling in the lambent light of the muted television. Snowflakes of varying shades of blue and white hung from the glimmering branches, also glistening, though to a lesser extent than the rest of the tree, softer. A long string of white lights was draped over each branch with clear intent, looking very much like someone had taken their time with it, though the strand proved too long in the end and the remainder of the lights spilled over in a pile on the floor by the power outlet, alongside a bunch of popcorn that looked like it was thrown at the tree and ended up on the floor instead. At the very top, sure enough, one of Helga's old ribbons was tied neatly at the top, fat and cheery. Pink, blue, white, gold and silver all combined together on a tree that might as well be a bunch of sticks glued to a much larger stick shouldn't work, but somehow the overall effect, shimmering with snowflakes all slowly spinning from the warm air of the vents overhead, was oddly… magical. In an otherworldly, alien kind of way.

It took a while, but Arnold's eyes did shift around to take in the rest of the room. Red and green paper chains were hanging from the walls like garland, with fat clumps of leaves hung where the chains were taped up to the wall. Smaller, white snowflakes were taped in random spots on the walls, here and there, there and here. A bright red flower sat at the center of the coffee table, with a candle on both sides, lit and glowing faintly in the dark. A matching candle sat unlit on the side table by the couch, with another clump of leaves laying there decoratively. A smaller pink bow hung neat at the bottom of the TV stand, with a long white sock drooping on either side of it.

To summarize, it looked like a hell of a lot of work. A lot of work that didn't make sense.

Baffled, he turned his eyes to the people responsible for the display, seeing them all passed out on the couch together. Zack laid on the far end, his head propped up in one hand while the other hung limply beside Amanda, who was pressed tight into his side, her arms clasped around his middle, snoring quietly in tune with him. Ham sat beside the two, slouching with his head hanging back on the couch, mouth wide open, the ends of a red sheet laying in his lap. Phil was curled up on the other side of the couch closest to them, the majority of the sheet cocooning him as a line of drool hung from the corner of his mouth. He hadn't thought they had been gone long enough for all _this_, but the infomercial on glow-in-the-dark BBQs and dead-asleep kids begged to differ.

"Uh…" Helga voiced his thoughts, the bag from BIGAL'S Tasty Café crinkling as she held it up to eye level. "I'll just go pop these in right quick and be right back… You wake up the munchkins." _And ask them just what the hell happened while we were gone_, went unsaid, but he heard it all the same. He didn't look as she walked past him and headed for the kitchen, keeping his eyes focused on the four miscreants snoozing on the couch.

Stepping over onto the carpet to keep his footsteps quiet, he wandered over to stand in front of them, casting a shadow over them. Thinking he saw Phil's eyelids twitch a second, he fell onto his knees and shook him, softly murmuring, "Phil, you need to wake up. It's Dad. We're home now, we brought dinner."

Phil muttered something incoherent in response, but he managed to decipher a few words. "Leave" and "one more hour" being the closest he could interpret. One more hour wasn't going to work, however; if he tried to wake Ham first, he'd end up with a bloody nose, Amanda was too sweet to even think to wake up, and Zack was just… Phil had to wake up.

He liked how peaceful he looked, though, how void of worry or pain. In wakefulness, he was typically either utterly indifferent to the point of slight concern or overflowing with torrents of violent emotion to the point of absolute concern, but here he was just another innocent little boy with a bad case of bed-head. Arnold felt a swell of affection for him, before he resigned himself once more and grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him a little harder this time. "Phil, you need to get up now." He racked his brain for a reason that he would care about, before his eyes lit up and he said urgently, "I think I just heard Santa."

Almost instantly Phil's eyes flew open and he flew up, yelling out in a sleep-hazed slur, "Where is that fat son of a sub, I'll end him and all of his gnomes before he even knows where he began and I started!" Clenching his eyes shut abruptly, he sucked in a breath and shook his head quick, before rubbing his eyes. Dazed, he looked around himself, like he didn't recognize the place. "Wait, what did I just say?"

"Phil." The brunet snapped his hazy eyes to him in a sharp movement, trying to focus his eyes on him. Arnold smiled, bemused. "I'm sorry to wake you up like this, but your mother and I are home now. We have burgers. No pickles on yours, just like you like." Phil was staring past him but he could tell he'd heard him, 'cause his mouth went into a line. He looked very much like he just wanted to go back to sleep and say 'screw food' but his stomach was giving him second thoughts. The quiet grumble that sounded from his stomach the next second confirmed his assumptions, and Phil gave in with a sigh as he shifted his legs off the couch to the floor. Arnold moved back some to give him room, but stayed positioned in front of him intently. Phil paused at his look, eyes squinting slightly in the dark. He asked, a little defensive, "What?"

Reaching over to pick up the leaves from the table beside him, he held it up to the light and raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

Phil stared at it blankly for a solid five seconds, before his droopy eyes bolted fully open and an, "Oh," popped out of his mouth. Frowning, he looked over to see everyone else fast asleep, and for a split-second his eyes flicked to the TV before he looked back to Arnold and frowned a little deeper. "Um," he managed.

Suddenly his hand flew out and pushed Ham over with nothing but pure panic-stricken adrenaline, and he fell over onto Amanda, who woke up with a start and yelped, causing Zack to sputter awake, coughing from the saliva that had built a pocket in his mouth. Ham flew off of Amanda and lashed out at the air, before he looked around wildly and a shudder wracked his body. Phil just smiled at Arnold and folded his hands in his lap, not once looking away.

Arnold stared at all his disheveled, glassy-eyed children for a few moments, and even managed to open his mouth in a drawn out, "Uh," but before he could think to actually say anything, Phil beat him to it. Loudly and out of the blue, all but forcing everyone to look at him, he asked, "So, Dad, how was your day? Did Mom cheer you up?"

Arnold tilted his head at him, blinking. "Um, I guess. How did you—"

"Ha," Phil exclaimed, sending a hard look at Ham, Faith, and Zack, but mainly Zack. He stuck his tongue out then, and said, "I stinking told you," before he scooted back into the comfort of the couch and sunk in, red sheet still held tight in his hands. He looked over to Arnold and said plainly, "It was their stupid idea, not mine. Ask them." He grabbed a bowl of popcorn that had been sitting partially behind him and popped a few pieces in his mouth, ready to enjoy the show.

Arnold slowly turned his eyes to the rest of them, a small wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "What stupid idea?"

Zack blinked, and the three all exchanged a look, before he looked back and announced, "If you're mad, it was all Josh. If you love it, this was all me." Ham reached over to try to push Zack, but was unable to get a good enough angle with Amanda there to put much real force into it. Zack's only reaction was a sleepy chuckle. Amanda just clung tighter to him, already falling back asleep.

"All this," Arnold gestured an arm out at the room, raising an eyebrow at them. "What is all this? I don't know if I'm angry or not. You guys know we go over to the boarding house for Christmas. So why… Are you all just anxious to get your Christmas presents early or something? 'Cause that's not happening." He smirked lightly.

"No, we," Ham began, before Zack cut him off.

"You seemed really weird this morning, like something was bothering you, so," Zack shrugged, shifting slightly to attempt a stretch with Amanda still around him, "we thought about it and—"

Ham finished for him, speedily, "We thought maybe you felt bummed because Christmas was coming up and it was getting cold, but nothing was going on out here so…" Trying to explain it all out, with Arnold looking at him in baffled inquiry and his mind still hazy from dreams he didn't recall, it all seemed to make less and less sense now, so he stopped. Taking a deep breath through his mouth, he shut it again and bit the inside of his cheek.

Zack picked up where he left off, eyes foggy and serene, "We wanted to cheer you up, so we tried to bring Christmas to Nowhere-Land. You're welcome." His eyes snapped fully open then and he smiled, reaching down to pry the remote out from underneath his butt. "Oh, almost forgot!" Holding it out to the TV, he pressed a button and the image of Ronnie Matthew's grinning, liposuctioned face snapped to a flickering fire, giving a warm orangey-red glow to the room. The mute button was clicked off then and the relaxing sounds of crackles and snaps came. Zack grinned. "Tada!"

Arnold turned and stared for a long moment, before he looked back at them all, face shadowed, and asked quietly, "You did all this, to make me feel better?"

Zack shrugged while Ham hesitantly nodded, and even Amanda managed to give a sleepy little nod, yawning. Phil just popped another piece of popcorn in his mouth.

Arnold stared at them in silence. Ham's confidence in the whole idea was starting to seriously wane, but Zack remained unfazed. His eyes lit up suddenly then and he pointed in the corner, saying conversationally, "Oh, we also brought down your old record player and some Christmas records." At his father's continued staring silence, he added, sleep thickening his words again, "Don't worry, we didn't break it or anything. Phil set it up. Whatever he says, don't listen, he helped just as much as everyone else."

"The tree is still a stupid custom and I had nothing to do with it," Phil stated mid-crunch.

"You're a stupid custom."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"But that doesn't make any sense, numbskull."

"Or is it _you_ that doesn't make sense? Huh? Huh?"

"Hm, interesting point, let me think about—_No_."

"I…" All eyes snapped back to Arnold at the word, and they watched as his shadowed features appeared to contort somehow. Everyone seemed to hold their breath at the same time despite themselves, as a slightly choked sound tumbled out of their father's mouth. Zack and Ham both wore similar expressions of horror as Arnold coughed and sniffed for a few seconds, while Phil just stared stoically, his body still as the silence that surrounded them.

Arnold seemed to come back to himself then as he took in a breath, and he let it out in a short laugh that relaxed everyone's nerves. "I don't know what to say," he said honestly, sounding deeply touched, melancholy, and amused all at once. "I don't know what to _think_, really. I mean… you covered a tree in glitter and taped a bunch of leaves to the walls—"

"I told them they'd just wilt—" Phil started to say, irritation tinting his words, but Zack interrupted him with, "We just needed them there for the day, whatever happens after that doesn't matter. What does matter is whether or not they had the intended effect." Sitting up, as Amanda had shifted off of him from all the talking to lean against Ham instead, he put his hands on his knees and asked, "Does it make you feel better, Dad? Or at least make you want to laugh at how utterly stupid we are?"

"We'll clean it up," Ham added hesitantly, before he fell silent again, lips drawn tight.

"At the very least, you have to admit the idiots care," Phil, surprisingly, added into the conversation in his usual dry fashion.

Zack looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself, forcing his eyes to stay focused on Arnold.

Arnold looked at them all individually, Zack straight-backed and intent, Ham a silent wreck, Amanda half-asleep but clearly listening in based off of how she kept peeking through her eyelids, and Phil staring blankly, but with interest. They obviously didn't know how much this gesture really meant to him. They'd just done it as a way to cheer him up, to make him feel better about whatever had gotten him down, and that made this all the harder.

He didn't know how to coherently explain out all his fears as a parent without getting sappy on them; how to tell them how guilty he'd felt over not being able to give them nicer things or take them out more often; how with Christmas coming up he'd been feeling more and more stressed; how much he just wanted to give them everything there was in the world but couldn't—but most of all, he didn't know how to tell them how much he feared they would leave someday and forget all about him, their boring old dad who cared so much but gave so little.

So finally, he told them simply in the most sincere voice he owned, "I love you kids, and I love what you did. I feel so much better. Thank you."

Instantly their faces all lit up, even Amanda smiled despite _being asleep_ and launched herself at him, cuddling in tiredly as she quietly hummed into his neck. "Love you, Daddy. Merry Christmas," she yawned, arms wrapped about his neck as she sagged from the couch.

He gave a watery chuckle, hugging her back gently. "I love you too, Faith."

"I stinking told you," Zack said with a smug grin in Phil's direction, who just grunted and threw a piece of popcorn at him. Ham grinned as well and said forcefully, "It was my idea." Zack just rolled his eyes, choosing not to comment for the moment.

Arnold chuckled again, holding Amanda tighter to himself, before picking her up completely and cradling her in his arms. She was so heavy now, he thought with his mood dropping a little. He shook himself of the thought, though. This wasn't the time, so he held her close to his chest and stood up, smiling down at them all fondly. Hard to deal with or not, they were good kids.

Ham stood up suddenly and held his arms out to him, and for a second he thought he wanted a hug, but then he was taking Amanda out of his arms and edging towards the door. "Uh, merry early Christmas, Dad," he said, smiling slightly as he neared the door leading to the hall. "I'll just put Amanda to bed. We can finish this all up in the morning."

Arnold frowned slightly, his arm reaching out. "We brought back dinner—"

"Breakfast," Ham corrected, smilingly a bit sheepishly. "It's really late, Dad. We can get a fresh start on everything tomorrow." He offered one last smile, before he was gone, back turned and trotting out of the room with Amanda waving at him over his shoulder. Arnold watched them go, before he sighed, a smile washing over his face.

"Goodie-Track-Shoes," Zack yawned, leaning leisurely back into the couch and throwing his feet up onto the coffee table. "I wanted to get this show on the road today, not tomorrow."

"Well," Arnold looked down to check his watch, wincing at what he found, "it is way past your bedtime." He let his arm drop down and gave a deeply guilty look at his remaining two children. "I'm so sorry we stayed out so late, the time must have gotten away."

Zack smirked lightly, his hands cushioning the back of his head. "Oh, yes, time does tend to do that when you're having a good time." His face split in a cheeky grin just as Arnold shot him a warning look.

Phil sniffed suddenly as the smell of burning cheese reached him, and he turned his head to the kitchen, bemused. He spotted something when he did, hovering in the shadows beyond the doorway, and he raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Dad," he started, pointing to the door. Arnold turned his head to look and saw nothing. He looked to Phil with a raised eyebrow of his own then, and Phil quickly stood from the couch, throwing aside the sheet as he walked calmly across the room. Once in the doorway, he grabbed his mom by the elbow and pulled her out of hiding.

Almost instantly Helga grabbed him to her and gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek. He flailed a little at first, shocked, before she gave him a tight squeeze and released him to stumble away and fall against the doorway in dismay. She straightened then and smirked in Arnold's direction, crossing her arms over her chest. "See, darling? It's not that hard to get a hug out of Phil. You just have to be smart about it."

Phil looked up at her, stunned, and she snickered a little as she pointed her finger straight up. He looked where she was pointing then and his eyes snapped shut and his mouth went razor-straight the exact half-second his eyes met with the fake mistletoe hanging above their heads. Helga winked at Arnold and nodded her head in Phil's direction, winking again. Arnold caught on and hummed a little, hand coming up to cup his chin a second before he sauntered over to stand with them, speaking as he walked, "I see what you're saying, dear, but I can't condone forcing—" he snapped forward with viper-like speed and grabbed Phil up, ignoring his screech as he hugged him tight about the torso and rocked two-and-fro. Phil tried admirably to escape his fate, but in the end Arnold prevailed—a firm kiss was planted amongst his fluffy brown locks, before Arnold mercifully loosened his grip enough for Phil to push back with his hands on his shoulders, shuddering.

A flash went off suddenly, startling them. They turned their heads just in time for another one to go off, blinding them momentarily. Once their eyes adjusted back to accommodate the darkened room, the first thing they saw was Zack grinning toothily at them, his phone held up. He announced brightly, "That one has to be our Christmas card. Wait until you see your faces, you'll flip." Helga's eyebrows flew up in interest, but both Arnold and Phil looked less than enthused with the idea.

"Do I look stupid in it?" Helga inquired, eyebrows high.

Zack flipped back to the picture and looked at it, then her, then it again, repeating this motion as he replied, "You just look like you're having a good time. It's Phil's horror stricken one and Dad's scrunched up terrifying excuse for a kissy-face that win the gold." He snickered, staring at his phone with the most sinfully delighted expression.

Helga smiled at this, apparently satisfied. Perhaps a bit too satisfied. "Ah, that's good then. Christmas card it is. You know how I love pictures of your father that make him look like a dolt." Zack laughed his agreement.

Meanwhile, as this conversation between mother and son went on, Phil shook his hair out of his face and ran a hand through to straighten it, his face devoid of any real expression as he patted his dad on the shoulder with his other hand. He spoke quietly, none too keen on the _others_ overhearing, "If you're going to keep holding me like this, Dad, you'd better start heading towards the kitchen. It's the least you can do after trying to kill me."

"I kissed you on your head," Arnold replied wryly.

Phil looked at him dully, unimpressed. "Like I said. Tried to kill me. Now mush, Balto, I'm hungry and tired." Arnold smirked and turned to humor his request, when Zack yelled for him to stop suddenly. He paused, and turned his head inquiringly to him. Zack held his hands up from where he stood in front of the coffee table, forming a square with his fingers, and looked at them through it with one eye squished shut. "Ah, ah. Can't leave yet, Arnold, you've gotta kiss Mama for the camera."

Arnold furrowed his eyebrows at this, but Helga seemed to understand. She reached out to him and pulled him back under the mistletoe by his sleeve, smirking tenderly. Phil's eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen, and he waved his arms at Zack, signaling him to cut it out with two fingers waving at his throat. Zack just grinned and gleefully ignored him, holding the camera up with an enthusiastic, "Say burnt cheese!"

Arnold and Helga kissed, and the flash went off. The kiss lasted another couple seconds after the picture was taken, before they pulled back and smiled at each other lovingly, a silent understanding passing between them. Helga's contented look vanished the next second, however, and her eyes snapped wide. "Wait, burnt cheese?" She squeaked and raced towards the kitchen, cursing under her breath.

Arnold laughed and turned his head back to smile at Phil, who had grabbed his hair and purposely twisted it down into his face to hide his eyes. Arnold just laughed more at this and moved to set him down. Phil stopped him suddenly, though, hair still hanging in his face but eyes visible now as he looked up at him. He asked seriously, keeping his voice discreet, "Mom really did cheer you up? You're not faking?" Arnold blinked at this and nodded, muttering his profound sincerity. Phil's shoulders seemed to ease after hearing this, and he allowed him to sit him back on his feet with a sigh of relief. Straightening himself, and without any further words, he abruptly quit the room, heading languidly towards the kitchen.

And so Arnold and Zack were left alone together. Zack deposited his phone back into his pocket once he realized this, and clasped his hands behind his back with a smirk. Arnold met his eyes levelly, his face carefully blank. There were a lot of questions in the air, and a lot of things both of them wanted to say, but now wasn't the time. Not with the fire crackling and tree twinkling, not with everyone exhausted and heading to bed and burnt cheese hanging in the air. There would be time for everything in the morning; just not right now.

And so, Arnold mirrored his posture and confessed, trying for a joke, "You know, for a second I was afraid you'd thrown another party."

Instantly Zack's eyelids utterly disappeared and his jaw fell. For a moment he seemed almost incapable of speech, but Arnold only had a second to feel taken aback before Zack threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, criminy, _hell_ no. I've learned my lesson there." He gave a mock-shudder that almost wasn't mocking at all, shaking his head jerkily as if to shake away the mere idea and any memories attached to it.

Arnold raised an eyebrow and smirked, mentally patting himself on the shoulder. Good parenting at it's finest; he was scarred for life. Excellent.

A silence settled over them then. Not an uncomfortable one, though definitely thick with something, and Arnold took the moment to casually glance back around the room and smile approvingly, wanting to show his appreciation, before looking back and meeting his son's eyes. He cleared his throat.

"So," Zack spoke first, a wide smile lightening his features and brightening the mood in the room, "I probably shouldn't do this after you assumed the worst of me…" he walked slowly across the room to him, eying him in an exaggeratedly cautious manner, before he beamed, "but what the heck? Merry Christmas, Dad." He came forward and gave him a hug that Arnold didn't hesitate to return, his hold both firm and gentle, mirroring Zack's.

Arnold's face softened in the hug, and he clenched his eyes shut, tightening his hold on him. "Merry Christmas, son."

Tomorrow he would wake up and turn the sprinkler on to coat the lawn in icicles, and make everyone breakfast as he always did, but with chocolate chips and cherries. They would have hot chocolate and watch early Christmas movies before going outside and blowing bubbles into the wind, pretending they're something else entirely. He would dance with his wife to Dino Spumoni and tease his kids over the entire silly thing even while he indulged their every whim. And he would smile the entire day, before going to bed with his wife, kissing her on the forehead, and falling asleep without a single unhappy thought in his head.

He didn't know how he was ever going to let them go.

The decision was made for him when Zack pulled suddenly back from his tight embrace and asked seriously, looking him in the eye, "You really like it?"

Arnold met his look with a gentle smile and compassionate eyes. "Of course I do, Zack. You kids went to a lot of work over me and the house looks amazing. How could I not love it?"

And just like that, Zack was beaming again with smug satisfaction.

Arnold chuckled, and reluctantly pulled back the rest of the way. With a firm pat on his son's shoulder, he turned to walk back in the direction of burnt cheese and runny lasagna. "But never do it again."

* * *

><p>11:30 AM. Christmas day.<p>

A wreath hung vibrantly on the front door of the Sunset Arms, large and three shades greener than the door itself. Mrs. Shortman tilted her head at it in concentration and hummed theatrically, tapping a finger against her hip. "Something's missing here but I just can't…" she muttered, before her eyes lit up. "Ah, I know." Pulling the ribbon out of her hair, sending dark blonde locks tumbling down her back, she wrapped it around the top of the wreath and tied it in a massive bow.

Amanda hopped up and down, a bottle in her hand. "Sparkles," Amanda giggled, waving the bottle in the air, and Helga made an, "Oh, of course," of pretend realization. Taking the bottle from her hand, she snapped the cap off and poured the silvery, red mix into her hand. It glinted and shone as she spread it out in her palm, before she grinned, held her hand out to the wreath and blew. Sparkles fell and flew in the chilled winter air, carried away by the win. Not a single speck made it onto the wreath, and both Helga and Amanda's faces went blank. Blinking, Helga muttered, "Typical."

Zack swung his legs from where he sat perched beside them on the stoop, smirking slightly. "You tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn't even matter." He snickered, turning his new iPod off and slipping it into his pocket. Helga sent him a dry look, already regretting giving him that.

Phil rolled his eyes, standing at the bottom of the steps and looking out around the snowy road. After a few seconds, he huffed decisively and crossed his arms. "A blessing in disguise," he assured, a tad irritated as he continued to watch the roads.

Helga puffed out a breath, eyes flicking heavenward, when the door suddenly started to open. Amanda managed to leap out of the way in time, but Helga wasn't so lucky. She was knocked back, the bottle of glitter falling out of her hands and scattering down the steps. Zack's hand shot out on instinct and he grabbed her by the arm, which ended up being a bad move as Helga scrambled to grab him by both his arms and ended up pulling him down with her. Another hand shot out suddenly from the door and grabbed Helga, steadying her just before she tumbled the rest of the way down the steps, which left Zack wobbling in an attempt to gain back his balance only to fall over the other way and face-plant into the snow. Animals raced out of the house as Phil burst into laughter, finger pointed at Zack as he struggled to push himself up from the ground, sputtering snow out of his nose and mouth.

Abner zeroed in on him like a fat, pink heat seeking missile, and before Phil knew what was happening, he was thrown back, air whooshing out of his lungs. He stared straight up in disoriented terror for a moment, before something hot and rough scraped against his cheek, and he groaned, "Abner!"

Arnold stepped out onto the stoop, hand still clasped protectively around Helga's arm, alarmed. "Man, I can't go anywhere with you people," he joked, before he grabbed Helga by her shoulders and guided her over to stand on the steps very deliberately. He stepped down to help Zack up from the snow then as Helga performed a series of rapid blinks, still coming back to herself. Phil's loud sounds of distress and Amanda's mad giggling snapped her out of it, and her eyebrows flew up.

"Get back, beast," Phil yelled, vainly attempting to push Abner off, only to get snogged more determinedly. "Back from whence ye came! You have long overstayed your welcome! It's not flattering anymore! You are about five seconds away from becoming Christmas dinner!" Abner gave an especially adoring swipe of his tongue straight up the middle of his face, going over his mouth, nose, and forehead. Phil coughed and shuddered hard, furiously wiping at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. Abner's tail wagged back and forth as he panted in his face, his sagging, old eyes lit brighter than the lights surrounding the boarding house.

Helga simply snorted out a laugh at this display, walking down the last couple steps to the sidewalk. "Well, maybe if you didn't insist on bathing yourself in half of your father's shampoo every time you bathe this wouldn't be such an issue. Apparently I'm not the only one addicted to herbal spice. That's some powerful stuff." She sent a saucy look over at her husband. He rolled his eyes.

Arnold crouched down on his hind legs and whistled Abner over, patting his legs. Abner snapped his head around at the sound, and tried to jump off of Phil's chest, only to trip and roll onto his back. He squealed, kicking his legs in the air, before he got quickly tired and sagged back, his legs flopping over in exhaustion. Arnold dropped his head a moment, his shoulders shaking, before he looked up with a strained expression and walked over to pick Abner up. Abner snorted gratefully and licked at his face, and Arnold's face lost thirty years for a few precious seconds as Helga gazed at him.

Phil was still sputtering even after he'd gone, and sat up with a cough and ferocious wipe down of his face with his sweater. Shaking his hair out, Phil grumbled, "That's what you said last time he tried to lick the flesh off my skull. I tried switching shampoos a long time ago. It didn't work."

Helga focused her eyes back on him at that, eyes widening. "Really now?" She snorted, putting a hand on her waist as she smirked. "Well, I guess he just likes ya then." Phil buried his face in his hands, as if she'd just told him he only had three days to live.

"Hey, hey," a gruff voice murmured unexpectedly, and everyone snapped their heads around to see Big Bob Pataki plodding up to the house, clad in a heavy, camouflage coat and black snow boots… and a Santa hat pulled over his head. A gray-haired, but slightly more energetic Miriam Pataki trailed after him in a lush, lavender dress, carrying a long gold gift box in her arms. Bob lugged along with two massive shopping bags, his body short and wide and sagging in seemingly random places.

The burlesque man eyed them all with half his eyebrow extended up, before his eyes focused on Phil sitting wide-eyed in the snow and he grumbled something incoherent. Looking over to his son-in-law, he asked, his voice sticking to low, gravelly tones, "Where's that meat boy? I need him to help me carry these inside."

Arnold and Abner both stared at him. "I'm more than capable of helping you, Bob," Arnold said, his tone only a little dry. An achievement, to be sure, he thought to himself.

Big Bob blinked at this, before he swept his eyes over him. Once, twice. And then he blinked again and frowned. "Are you sure?"

Arnold sighed, set Abner down, and reached over to relieve him of his load. He grabbed the first bag up with pointed force, and hefted it up under his arm with a meaningful look. Big Bob just shrugged and allowed him to take the rest of the bags from him.

Helga narrowed her eyes slightly, walking down the steps to greet her parents as she wrapped her jacket tighter about herself. "Hello to you too, Bob," she said sarcastically. "Where's that death-trap you call transportation at?"

Bob shifted his eyes over to her then and cracked a smile. "Hey there, girl." He reached a hand over to grab her by the shoulder and squeeze, and Helga's frown faltered. "We couldn't drive. The road's are covered thick. We roughed it over here."

Helga's jaw dropped, and she took an involuntary step back. "You _what_?"

Bob shrugged his bulky shoulders just as Miriam caught up and stood beside him. "We couldn't miss Christmas with you, honey," Miriam told her sweetly, smiling. Big Bob grunted his agreement and added resolutely, with no little amount of pride, "A Pataki never misses a Christmas." His face sagged then, and he crossed his arms with something that almost resembled a pout. "It was one of the only things we did right for you." Helga's face melted at that, and she moved forward to envelop her parents in a hug about their shoulders, squeezing.

"Christmas was always the best time of the year," Helga granted, pulling back to bestow an indulgent smile. They both brightened, and she brightened with them, before a smirk took hold of her countenance. "You guys aren't _that_ late…" she sugarcoated, well aware they were supposed to be here hours ago. They'd long given up on them showing any time soon and exchanged gifts. She _had_ been mad. She'd spent most of her morning coming up with snappy sarcastic responses to excuses they might make. Arnold had had to give her multiple massages just to keep her calm. But none of that mattered anymore, because they were here, and cold, and guilty. And in the end that's what truly counted. She smiled deviously at them. "Phil's been anxious all morning waiting for you guys."

"Is that so?" Bob turned his eyes onto Phil, and the boy scrambled up off of the sidewalk, wiping the snow off of his backside. Zack, who had carefully backed himself away from the group, began up the steps to hopefully escape any conversation. No such luck, Bob called to him, "Hey… the big blue string bean one over there." Zack stopped, and reluctantly turned his head to look at him over his shoulder. "Yeah, you. Rob's not going to give me a straight answer, so you answer me: is that true?"

Zack answered plainly, "I'd say so, yeah. I think he missed you."

Bob grinned big and smug at that, clasping his hands in front of his stomach as he shared a look with his wife. "Did you hear that, Miriam? Rob missed me!"

"Why are you calling me Rob?" Phil asked, brow creasing, his shoulders tenser than usual.

Bob's smile dropped, along with his tone, "Ah… just trying something out. Not working for ya?" Phil shook his head. Bob grunted. "Eh… I figured if Faith could fly for Amanda, maybe." He brightened back up then, reaching over to grab one of Helga's shoulders; a bit too roughly but she didn't complain. "But what the hey, you can be called Pokey the Tooth Fairy if you want, what's important is that you're running Big Bob's Beepers once I'm out of the picture! Right?" He turned his eyes on Helga, looking for backup.

Helga scoffed and pulled her shoulder out of his grasp, a determined scowl settling it's way onto her features. "Ohhh no, I'm not having any part of this conversation. C'mon, Miriam, 'manda, let's get inside."

Bob groaned, holding his arms out in earnest. "Oh, come on, Helga, he's gotta get over that whole acting phase sometime!" Phil bristled.

Helga pretended he hadn't spoken, and continued to all but stomp up the steps, when she stopped suddenly in her haste and turned to Miriam again, holding an arm out. "Hey, Mom, you want me to carry that? It looks pretty heavy."

Miriam smirked slightly and gave a single shake of her head, holding the box closer to herself. Helga looked surprised for a moment, but then she returned her smirk and twisted back around to head into the house. Miriam brushed Bob as she passed by, murmuring a bit tiredly, "Don't be too long, B, you know what the cold does for your arthritis."

He frowned, his unibrow shadowing his eyes. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

Miriam ignored him, and soon all the women were inside the house, Amanda the last to go inside with a fleeting glance before the door was closed. Bob and Phil stood at opposite sides of the stoop together, silent.

Bob laughed a little then, the sound deep and gravelly. "Hey, women, huh?"

Phil sent him a dull look, before looking away awkwardly. "I left my cup at your house two weeks ago. Did you bring it?" Bob blinked, before hesitantly nodding, eyebrow narrowing in slight confusion. Phil let out a sigh and nodded, before beginning up the steps. Bob walked over to grab him by the arm. "Hey, Rob—" Phil turned to cast a dark look on him, and he let go without even meaning to.

"No," he said coldly, and Bob was suddenly very aware of how badly his legs ached, "it's Phil. P-H-I-L." He turned around completely. "And just for the record—" He swept his hair back and grinned, all anger, underlying bitterness, and disdain that normally clouded his face disappearing like it had never been there. He looked somehow more his age then, and he smiled at him for a long moment. Bob eyed him with widening eyes, deeply unnerved. Phil grinned wider then, and said, "You're right. That whole acting thing was nothing but a phase. One that lasted almost three years, but hey, who's counting? It doesn't matter anymore. I'm over it now." His smile twitched. "I want to run the beeper store," he finished, strained but still appearing sincere.

Despite himself, Bob perked up. "Really?"

The smile came crashing down and shattered at their feet, replaced once more with flat derision and a hint of relief. "Heck no." The door swung open and slammed shut in the same second, causing a layer of snow to fall from the stoop to his feet. He snapped his eyes from it to the door, outraged, before his face cleared away to blankness and he rolled his eyes. "For Pete's sake, just like his stinking mother. Not a hint of me in him. What a _waste_."

* * *

><p>"For Pete's sake, Mom, we've already opened everything! You've been sitting there clutching that stupid thing ever since you came inside. Will you just gimme the stupid package already?"<p>

"No."

Helga shot her a hard look. "You have got to be kidding. Did you_ really_ just say no? What's the big deal?"

Miriam stared at her, with soft lavender eye shadow flickering from the rapidity of her blinking. Her eyes shifted down to look at the package still hugged tight to her chest, before looking back at her a little worriedly. Helga's severity didn't wane, even as her mother finally replied, "I'm waiting for the right moment. It's a little… sensitive, and I want to be able to explain. And not in a room full of people."

"For God's sake, Miriam, what'd you do? Get me a severed head? The blood of my enemies? 'Cause you know if it's the last one, that box's not nearly big enough." Miriam rolled her eyes and shook her head. Helga's frown deepened and she looked sharply to Phil, startling him with the intensity of her look and the quickness of her tongue as she asked, "Phil, what'd she get me?"

Miriam gasped and shook her head, gray hair flying back and forth. "Helga Geraldine, I can't believe you would resort to that! He's not going to tell you!"

Helga groaned at the use of her horrid middle name and ducked her head down, her arms going up over her head as she clenched her eyes shut in exasperation. "Have you even _met_ me, Miriam? Where have you been for the last thirty-nine years?"

"Actually," Phil cut in before they could break into an all-out fight, "I'll tell you."

Helga's arms fell away and a look of pleasant surprise burst onto her face at the same moment horror slid onto Miriam's. "Really? You really do know what it is?"

Phil smiled, folding his hands behind his back. He nodded. "Yep."

Helga stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to dish it out. When he never did, she flew forward and grabbed him by the front of his sweater, pulling him forward in a fit of impatience. "_Well_? Come on, kiddo, don't leave your poor mother in suspense!"

Phil grimaced at the wildness of her expression, vainly twisting his hands over hers to try to get her to let go of him. He chuckled a little quietly, a wary look on his face. "Yeah… about that—Gram paid me to _not_ tell, so—"

Helga violently ripped her hands from him and threw them up in a huff. "Ever the tease! Where did I go wrong? I knew I shouldn't have allowed you so many liberties when you were younger. Now you're downright spoiled." She glared into the distance, feeling childish. Her eyes lit up then with something he didn't like, and she looked at him sideways. "You know I can ground you, right?"

Phil let out a puff of breath and flicked his eyes to the ceiling. "Where do I have to go? I _said_ I'd tell you, don't worry. But you have to do something for me first." A smirk breezed across his face.

Helga gave him a severe look, unamused. "You're going to charge your own mother? That's ridiculous."

"No," Big Bob entered into the conversation, having overheard it from where he was standing by the bookshelf. "That's business."

Phil's smirk broadened all the more and he held his hand out for her. "Twenty bucks."

Helga gaped at him. "_Twenty_?"

Phil shrugged, the usual blank look on his face unaffected by her incredulity. "What more do you want? I already deducted the tax and applied your family discount. I can't afford to go any lower. I've gotta put food on the table somehow."

"_I put the food on the table for you_."

"Be that as it may, twenty bucks is as low as I can go and knowing Gram, you'll be waiting all day to open that package. Do you want to know or not?"

Helga stared stonily at him. He stared stonily back. She stared stonier, then stonier yet, and then stoniest of all. She looked at him with the face of a statue, and still he didn't budge. Her arm twitched, until finally she broke and was reduced to grumbles as she fished her wallet out of her pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. She extended it unwillingly, unable to look at what she was doing, and Phil plucked it out of her stiff fingers and folded it up, sticking it into his sweater. He smirked then, and extracted a ten out of his pocket and held it out to Miriam. She took it unhappily, and he tipped his invisible hat at her. "Pleasure doing business. It's a blender."

Helga's frustration with her son was immediately forgotten at this, and she threw her head back with a deep groan. "Miriam! You _didn't_!"

"I thought it'd be a nice gesture," she stammered in defense, looking forlornly down at the box in her arms. She mumbled, "I can't believe I got sold out by my own grandson."

"And _I_ can't believe," Helga interjected, looking at her skeptically, "that my formerly alcoholic mother thought it'd be a good idea to give me the bane of her existence for a Christmas gift."

"Oh, come now, Helga, think about it. You could make all sorts of things! Milkshakes, smoothies—" her eyes bolted wide and she looked at Helga quickly. "Not _that_ kind! Oh—" She put a hand to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut with a loud sigh. "This is why I didn't want to give it to you yet. I knew you'd get the wrong idea."

Helga threw her hands in the air, exclaiming, "Unbelievable," before stamping out of the room to the sanctity of the kitchen. Miriam skittered after her anxiously, calling her name.

Meanwhile Bob looked over to Arnold at his side and muttered to him in a hushed tone, "I don't care what any of you say, the boy was born for business." Arnold had to try really hard not to roll his eyes, and succeeded only by the skin of his teeth.

A cackle rang out across the room suddenly, breaking everyone from their previous conversations. "Well, lookie what the cat dragged in!"

Everyone looked down to see Isabelle gazing proudly up at Stella with the ends of something white sticking out the sides of her mouth, her gray and white striped tail whipping back and forth. Stella scrunched her nose up slightly and patted her on the head, scratching behind her ears to distract her. Isabelle eagerly pushed her head into her master's hand, and in her enthusiasm, the fish bone dropped abandoned from her mouth. Miles quickly reached down to pick it up with a napkin, before holding it up for everyone to inspect.

Zack ducked down to examine it at eyelevel, squinting his eyes. "Ooh, that's nasty." He straightened himself and looked amongst his family, a grin flittering across his face. "What are we gonna name it?"

Grandpa Phil eyed it a few seconds before giving a quiet chuckle and muttering, "How about Big Caesar?"

Ernie stared at it skeptically. "Looks more like Dead Caesar to me. Eh, am I right?" Lola murmured her quiet agreement with a gentle scrunch of her nose, before she wandered in the direction of the kitchen. Ernie's lip quirked up slightly in disturbed intrigue, raising half of his unibrow suddenly. "Ah, geez, I think it just moved."

"It can't move, it's a skeleton," young Phil remarked as he adjusted the sleeves of his sweater, sitting on the couch beside Stella. Isabelle made a soft meow and leaped up onto the couch between them, sitting tall and appearing to smile as Stella continued to run her fingers through her fur.

Mr. Hyunh, who had been staring intensely at the bones, suddenly screeched and jumped back a step. "Eee, I saw it too!"

"It's just sliding on the napkin, you guys," Miles chuckled, wrapping it up carefully so he could add it to his collection later on. Isabelle, the cat Stella had adopted for herself from the hoard of stray cats Gertie kept fed, had a habit of finding old bones and dragging them inside to offer them up to people she particularly liked or thought needed a little cheering up. At first they'd all naturally been a little disgusted, but with time they began to find it more and more amusing, realizing she only ever dragged in bones—no half-dead lizards, rats or pigeons. Just bones. Bare bones. Miles liked to joke that she was a regular osteologist, and had started storing the bones away in a shoebox as a joke, labeled and sealed in baggies. Zack had joked they should charge people admission to look upon these "rare discoveries" someday, and Miles had grinned and responded, "We can call it a _Meow_seum," to which Stella and Helga had both groaned about for a good three hours.

At the present moment, Stella merely flicked her eyes up good-naturedly, before leaning her head down into Isabelle's to twit, "Izzy, what is with you?"

"She's a cat, she can't answer you," Phil said dully. Stella snorted and reached over to give him a light push on the shoulder.

"Where's the old Ham meister anyway?" Ernie asked as he jumped up, backwards, to sit himself in a chair. With gray hair bunched up in thick curls above his ears, and wrinkles gathering innumerably beneath his eyes, he looked to be around in his late sixties. He didn't act it, however. Reaching down beside the chair, he picked up his old accordion and played a note or two, his eyes becoming a tad more youthful with the sound. "I want to get to the Christmas carols already."

"Hiding, as per usual," Zack yawned, looking content as he held a cold cup of eggnog in his hands by the fireplace. "We ought to just start without him. He's not going to come down."

"Aw, now, that ain't right," Ernie gave a huff, setting his accordion down none too gently. "We're his _family_, gosh darn it. And it's Christmas. Someone better go drag him down here or so help me, I'm not playing anything." He crossed his arms, holding his nose stubbornly in the air like an impertinent child.

Helga jumped back into the room suddenly with a handful of glitter, and blew it into the air, laughing maniacally as it fanned out across the room. Amanda bounced in after her the next second, and the two of them high-fived. "Success!"

Isabelle looked around wildly as specks of red and green sparkled in the air, watching rapt as they fell to the floor. She stood up on the tips of her toes in clear distress, before leaping off of the couch and crouching her face down low to the carpet, staring at the floor in fascination. Meanwhile Miles, who had been standing beside the coffee table where most of the confetti had landed, had to blink it out of his eyelashes and shake it out of his hair. "Aw, come on," he whined, though a smile was on his face as he ran a hand down his shirt.

"Miles," Grandpa Phil laughed at his son as he glinted in the firelight, leaning against the wall near where Zack stood warming his back, "don't you look pretty!" He snickered, Zack joining in with a chortle shortly after. Helga smirked sinfully, reaching a blind hand down to take Amanda by the shoulder and give her a squeeze. Faith giggled.

Miles turned to give a mock-testy look over his shoulder at his father and grandson, an eyebrow slightly raised. The two grinned back innocently. Young Phil just muttered sarcastically, catching everyone's attention, "Look on the bright side—now all you need to do is believe and think happy thoughts, and voila, you can fly, you can fly, you can fly."

"Oh, shush, Phil," Helga scoffed, walking over to flick him in the ear for the comment. "I think you've said quite enough." He yelped, sending her the stink-eye as he rubbed at his ear. Amanda just giggled once more and trotted back into the kitchen to where her Gram and Grandma still were.

Miles chuckled one last time before he leaned down to set Isabelle's fish bone on the coffee table with a sigh. Straightening himself, he gave one final wipe down of his shirt as he said, "Well, I'll just go fly upstairs and see if I can't convince Ham to come down then. Fish bones, carols, and pixie-dust—he doesn't know what he's missing."

Ernie gave a long-suffering sigh. "Thank you."

As Miles exited the room, Arnold chose that moment to stride in with a red-wrapped package under his arm, and a red-haired teenage girl at his side. With hair pulled back in it's usual perky ponytail and messy strands falling down into her face, Pam stood there in a bulky maroon coat and a beanie pulled down to her eyebrows. "Look who's here," Arnold announced her pleasantly, just as Pam gave a hard shudder and whipped her beanie off, throwing her head back as if she could shake the cold from her system.

"I don't care how long I live in New York, I will never be used to these random climate changes." Pam sniffled, running a hand over her chilled, white face. "Wasn't it like a firecracker just a few months ago?"

"You're preaching to the choir, sister," Helga droned sarcastically, leaning her backside against the arm of the couch with arms crossed. Phil had his head poked out to look around her at Pam, eyes just a little too wide, and Pam felt herself stiffen at the attention. Helga adjusted her long pink sweater down over her hips then, and leaned back a little further, hands unfolding and stretching back to support her weight on the couch's arm. "So," she smiled, a friendlier look coloring her features, "who the heck are ya?" As if she didn't already know.

Pam blinked at her, and was a bit startled when Arnold tried to take her coat off for her. Grabbing it tighter about herself, she snapped away from him, taking a distancing step to the side. Arnold raised an eyebrow at her, amused, and she realized herself with a quick, affected chuckle. "Sorry," she mumbled, fiddling with the buttons of her coat, "still a little chilly." Arnold smiled in understanding and walked further into the room to set her package down. As he did so, Pam turned her eyes back to Helga's inquiring ones and managed only the slightest smile, unsettled by all the eyes she could now see were upon her. "Uh, Pamella Idleberry. Ma'am." She coughed.

Helga blinked. "Quaint," she concluded slavishly, thinking back on her son's comments – or rather complaints – over dinner. She considered her gingerly, eyebrow cocked. She looked an awfully lot like someone she knew. She knew she was Zack's teacher's daughter, though, so it couldn't be, but it didn't mean there couldn't still be a resemblance. Her hair was almost the exact same shade, nose upturned in the same fashion, but the eyes and skin were all wrong, the body-type not slim enough or taste in clothes anywhere near right. Still, she couldn't help a level of skepticism as she took her in, as her eyes refused to stop drifting to the dark, vibrant red of her hair.

Pam cleared her throat to break the slight awkwardness that had descended on them, adventuring a step or two deeper into the room. "And I'm guessing you're Mrs. Shortman." She smiled, before something a tad dry touched her face as she flicked an eye in the direction of the fireplace, and certain people surrounding it. "You must be so proud."

Helga couldn't help but grin at this, and replied, "Oh, the proudest. Jolie ain't got nothing on me." Arnold rolled his eyes.

"Yeah." Pam blinked then, as a slightly apprehensive look clouded her features. She hesitated only a moment before asking, "You guys know your stoop's steps look like Tinker Bell threw up on them, right?"

"Yep."

Pam blinked once more, waiting for an explanation. Once she realized one was not going to come, if Helga's blank face was any indication, she cleared her throat and averted her eyes, rubbing her upper arms out of both discomfort and the chill still clinging to her.

Zack had been in the process of slowly inching his way over to hide behind Grandpa Phil, but the smaller, more annoying Phil destroyed this plan when he suggested, rubbing his hands together as if to dispel a chill even though he'd been inside for well over an hour now, "If you're cold, why don't you go over by the fire? By your good friend Zack?"

Pam looked down into his smiling ingenuine face and frowned, then turned to look at Zack. He stopped all movements instantly and froze, as if he were trying to escape prison and she was a guard with a gun, before a grin slid flawlessly into place and he swept an arm out in welcome, accepting Phil's challenge. She flicked her eyes up at the gesture but slid her coat off all the same, shivering slightly from the freeze lingering around it. Arnold was more than happy to take it from her with a courteous smile, and she looked at him as if he were a two-headed dog. Helga raised an eyebrow at her, fascinated.

Once she was standing in the warmth of the fire, the rest of the adults resumed conversation, laughing and teasing each other. Zack was silent through most of this, looking drowsy, but pleasantly so. He always looked pleasant, even as she knew what a jerk he truly was. But then, what reason didn't he have to be pleasant, with so much happy, loyal family surrounding him? Sniffing slightly as she held her hands out to the fire, she asked casually, "Where's your girlfriend?"

Zack wiped his mouth, having just taken a long swig of eggnog, before he looked over at her, half his eyebrow raised. "It's Christmas and she's Sophie Carpenter—where do you think?"

She shrugged carelessly, turning her eyes back to the fire. She couldn't help a smirk. "Just asking, just asking."

It was silent for a while, as Zack watched in good humor as Ernie impatiently tried to play a small ditty on his accordion to warm up, before he abruptly gave up and instead began a string of complaints in his scratchy voice that the notes weren't coming out right. Arnold commented on it, comforting him as he said he should really get a new accordion, as the one he had now had seen a lot of abuse over the years. Ernie was distraught over the notion, but fell silent after saying he guessed they couldn't play any Christmas carols after all. Stella patted him on the knee with comforting words even as she muttered something under her breath akin to, "Thank you, God." Ernie ignored her. Phil smirked. Helga snorted. Grandpa Phil and Arnold held back laughter. And Big Bob slipped out of the room to escape to the sanctity of the bathroom.

That was when something occurred to Zack and he turned his head to looked through one eye at Pam, lips pursing tight in suspicion. "Why _did_ you ask?"

Pam looked over at him in surprise, before she smirked again and turned around to let the fire work it's magic on her frozen legs and backside. "Well, I know we're supposed to be friends now or whatever, but to be frank, I like her _way_ more than I like you." Zack blinked at her with widened eyes, before he snorted and took another gulp of his eggnog, practically tipping the thing completely upside down. "I feel the same," he muttered afterwards, in a manner like it was to himself even though it was clearly loud enough for her to hear. They both smirked slightly at each other for it, glad to agree on something.

Zack somewhat spoiled the moment when he said, searching his cup for any last drops of nog in his cup, "Yeah, just don't be getting any ideas, she's mine." Pam couldn't help a small laugh at that, tapering off into a giggle and then a snort. A breath burst aggressively from Zack's lips at the sound, but neither commented, too eager for the conversation to end on a note that didn't have them wanting to strangle each other.

It was then that Miles trotted in with Ham in tow, and he slapped a hand down on his shoulder, as if to keep him from running off like a frightened animal. "I found him," Miles declared, grinning. "It took a lot—practically had to throw a net over his head and sling him over my shoulder—but here he is. Alive, even. Do I get a bonus for that?" Stella gave him a slightly flattened look, mouth quirked. Ham just looked around uncomfortably, forcing out an awkward laugh even as his face showed no sign of amusement in the situation.

Pam's eyes drank him in appreciatively, with his white long-sleeved sweater and damp freshly-washed blond hair, eyelashes shading her cheeks in the faint light of weak fluorescents. Nobody seemed to notice the look, save one person, who had to resist rolling their eyes at how predictable she was proving to be.

Ernie threw his arms in the air the next moment, his feet making a loud _thump_ as he slid off of his chair to the floor. "It doesn't matter anymore. We can't play any songs. The dang thing's busted." He gave a half-hearted kick to where his accordion laid on the floor, unleashing a sigh.

Arnold's shoulders bounced a bit in a shrug as he smiled at his family, a solution already on the tip of his tongue. His mouth was opening to voice it, everyone had already instinctively looked to him, but Gertie dressed in full kimono bursting into the room interrupted him as she sang merrily, "Let's get to the Secret Santa!" She banged a small gong, just as Amanda sprang back in from the kitchen after her with a small wrapped gift.

"I got Mr. Kokoschka," she sang in imitation, her voice like bells as she looked around the room and found him not to be present. Gertie beamed beside her, letting go of the gong to bash to the floor so she could clasp her hands before her collarbones in delight. Nobody reacted to the sound, save Ham, who flinched.

Grandpa Phil had a grin growing unflinchingly on his face, and a laugh escaped him a second before he reigned it in and managed to ask, "Oh, and, whatever did you get him, Amanda?"

"A rainbow tie," she chirped, holding the box closer to herself as she looked down at it with anticipation. "Mommy helped me pick it out. She said he can use it for his new job at Grandpa Bob's store, since he got fired from the last one… We didn't know what his favorite color was, so we got him all of them!" She practically bounced, on the tips her toes in anxiousness, and everyone's eyes dampened from the effort not to break down in laughter. Helga's lips parted in a toothy smirk that she flashed at them all, and Grandpa Phil had to run a bony hand down the side of his face to pull himself together.

"Is that so?" he chuckled, eyes twinkling as he sent a raised eyebrow at his granddaughter-in-law. She just grinned.

"Why, yes," she smoothly affirmed, "I did land him a new job. Unloading boxes and whatnot. We thought he ought to look his best. Call it my Christmas present to all of you." She glanced down to examine a nail that had broken off at the tip, and picked at it a little absentmindedly, a wonderful, awful smile still spread across her lips. "He's sure to be a hit with Big Bob."

Everyone lost it at that, and of course this was the moment Big Bob decided to stroll back in from his visit with the loo, still in the process of trying to master his pants. Upon all the eyes that flew to him that were then instantly overwhelmed with mirth, Big Bob dropped his hands to his sides and scowled defensively. "_What_?"

"Nothing," Helga chirped, grinning much too brightly for it to be any sort of reassurance to him.

"We're doing Secret Santa," Phil had mercy on him, twisting around in his seat to look at him without expression. Big Bob just blinked.

"Well," Arnold said quickly, coughing out one last laugh before he walked over to grab a small bag out from underneath the coffee table, "who wants to go first then?"

"Ooooh!" Zack started jumping up and down, grinning in jest. "Me! Me! Pick me!" Pam tensed, taking a swift step away. Grandpa Phil grinned at the display.

"Zack," Arnold said patiently, nodding his head at him. "Who did you get?"

"Pamella," he answered, a bit too giddily as he produced a long, cylinder-like parcel from the inside of his shirt. Pam snapped her eyes over to him in horrified shock, but before she could say anything against it he had already made a small show of offering it down to her, bowing his head. She was too stunned to do anything for a few painful seconds, but the all-encompassing realization that literally every eye in the room was on her made her grab the gift from his hand and quickly shred the paper off of it, just wanting to get it over with. All the while, she grumbled, "Of course I had to get the unibrow. There goes this entire trip." Zack smirked, being the only one close enough to hear.

With the snowflake wrapping paper all ripped and torn at their feet, all that was left was a bottle with a long, golden nozzle. She stared at it a long moment, before she threw her head over to him and deadpanned, underlined with skeptical fury, "You got me hair dye?"

Zack had been looking at the bottle in her hand with a small smile, and at the sound of the attitude in her voice, he snapped his eyes to hers. Rather than being affronted however, he just grinned brighter and nodded his head. "Uh-huh." He reached over to tap the label. "Dark auburn. Only about a shade or two over from your…" his eyes shifted to her hair, and he paused, "charming red." He met her eyes again, still smiling, as if he'd done nothing wrong. Pam steamed silently, nearly shaking from the urge to punch him in the face. He either didn't notice or didn't care, 'cause he went on, "I figured the transition from red to brown would be a lot easier than red to blue, like I'd suggested before. See? I thought it over for your convenience." He clasped his hands together in front of himself and rocked on his heels, clearly pleased with himself. "You're welcome."

_Don't kill him. Don't kill him. Don't kill him. Don't kill him. _Her breathing quickened, and she rationalized. _Too many witnesses. Kill him later. _Resigning herself to this made her feel slightly better, and she forced out a strained, "Thanks… Zack." She coughed, attempting to muffle over the "ass" part, and Zack looked all the more satisfied. She wondered if he'd even heard her, or noticed… anything. Was he dense? Surely not. But then again he was an idealist to the point of outright denial, so maybe he was just choosing not to notice.

Lovely.

"Well," Arnold, once again, was the one to break the tenseness in the room best he could, as he clapped his hands together and smiled. "What an… interesting gift, Zack." He gave a silent look of warning to Zack, who didn't appear to see as his smile didn't falter, and Arnold sighed. He dropped the act and said regularly, "Let's go ahead and get the rest of these opened and over with."

Everyone simultaneously released a breath and jumped at the chance to give their gifts to their Secret Santas, eager to leave the awkward moment behind.

Ernie gave Phil a slingshot and a very sly look that he didn't understand. Phil gave Stella an IOU with the reasoning that, "I'm eleven, I have no money, but I'll be rich someday so you might want to hang onto that," to which Stella had playfully scoffed and said, "I'll be dead by then, I think I'll just use it now for a hug," before forcing him to do just that, much to his chagrin and Arnold and Helga's amusement. Stella gave Helga a shiny, new watch that Helga was sure was exceeding the twenty-five dollar limit but Stella denied at every turn with a very suspicious looking smirk. Helga gave Mr. Hyunh a banana-patterned sweater that matched the wallpaper in his room, and that he liked way too much in her opinion. Mr. Hyunh gave Arnold a blue and orange plaid shirt with a wide toothy grin, and Arnold didn't even attempt to hide his exasperation.

He then gave his dad a nice leather-bound journal, commenting on how he couldn't bear to watch him scribble things down in that dirty old notebook anymore. Miles gave Gertie a kilt, which his father glared at him for. Gertie gave Miriam a snorkel. Miriam gave Grandpa Phil a pocket watch; to which Arnold snorted loudly at and everyone but a very entertained Helga stared at him strangely for. Grandpa Phil gave Big Bob a Fairy Princess make up kit. Big Bob gave Zack a baseball hat, to hide his "unfortunate hair problem," which Pam smirked thoroughly at. Suzie gave Amanda a book of poems. Lola gave Suzie a dress she'd managed to get through her work, and then out of sympathy gave Pam the bracelet on her wrist since she'd been more or less jipped out of the whole thing by Zack's thoughtlessness, which luckily he didn't see. And Ham gave Lola a book he thought she'd enjoy. Which of course left Ham with Oskar for a Secret Santa, by process of elimination, and he found himself wondering not for the first time why he'd let Miles persuade him to come downstairs.

All of which happened in a flurry of pushing, throwing and tearing, before the only person left that hadn't received a gift (besides Ham) was Ernie. Everyone knew who to look to, and which box to look at, and Pam blushed as red as her hair over the attention. Coughing awkwardly, she said, "Right," and walked over to nudge the heavy box in Ernie's direction. "Open it."

Ernie made a grunt-like sound of curiosity at the sheer size of the box, half his eyebrow raised. Large as it was, it was clearly wrapped in a hurry, with strange bunny-people wrapping paper and a bright orange bow, so he had no problem ripping it all off to reveal the plain brown box underneath. The overall package was short and wide (like him), and sloppily taped closed—easily ripped back off. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the shiny green accordion that laid inside was not it. He stared, his jaw gone slack, for a few very long moments, until finally he seemed to gain his wits back and nearly yelled, "No way! How did… How…"

Pam blinked, and a vaguely uncomfortable look settled on her face, before she coughed the awkwardness away and said, "I asked Mr. Shortman what he thought you'd like to get and he mentioned your accordion was kind of old, along with some other things but, well. It's my dad's. Or, was anyway." She smiled.

Ernie stared at it for a few seconds more, before he looked sharply up at her with the response, "I'm pretty sure this is breaking that whole twenty-five bucks thing."

Pam was shaking her head before he'd even finished speaking. "I didn't pay for it. I just told my dad to send it to me. He doesn't have any use for it anymore anyway. He bought it on a whim 'cause he wanted to learn how, and he did, but after that he never played it again." She rolled her eyes. "Better it go to you than sit in his closet."

"Uh-huh." Helga looked her over a bit suspiciously, arms crossed over her chest and back leaned against the arm of the couch beside Phil, who was staring rather intensely again. "Your father sounds like an interesting fellow."

"Yeah, well," Pam coughed, "he definitely had a lot of interests." Her voice lowered. "Most of which he got over fairly quickly, but whatever." She looked down, shuffling her feet.

Helga raised an eyebrow to this, but before she could say anything more, the obnoxiously loud sound of accordion music smashed through the air and made both her and Pam jump.

Mr. Potts grinned enthusiastically and belted out over the instrument, fingers gliding expertly over the keys, "Geez Louise, does this baby have some sound on her or what?"

"It is very loud," Mr. Hyunh loudly complained, pressing his hands over his ears. Big Bob grunted his agreement with a deep, displeased grimace.

Ernie just laughed, "That's the sound of a _real_ instrument!" He stopped playing and grinned at Pam. "Thanks a lot, uh… Pamella, was it?"

Pam nodded and said in a rush, "Call me Pam." Ernie grinned wider at her and nodded. Pam looked down and fiddled with the silver bracelet on her wrist, casting a glance at Lola who smiled just as wide at her, clearly pleased. Pam pursed her lips, smiling with the realization she liked these people. She liked these people a lot.

How the hell they were related to Zack, she'd never know.

Meanwhile Amanda frowned in the doorway of the hall, looking down at the gift box in her hand again before looking behind herself at the staircase. "Um," she murmured, before walking over to stand in front of Helga and lift her glistening eyes to her, " Mommy, when's Oskar going to come down?"

Helga blinked, before her eyes narrowed slightly in concern and she looked over to Suzie. Suzie, standing over by the fire and sharing a toast with Mr. Hyunh, shook her head and smiled slightly, before trying to hide said smile behind her cup. There was a laugh in her voice as she responded to Helga's silent question, "Oh, I'm sure he'll be down soon." Both Ernie and Mr. Hyunh shared a sly look at this, and Helga divided a dubious look amongst them.

"I can go drag him down," Miles offered, already starting to get up from his chair.

"Oh, please do," Ernie snickered.

Before Miles could even make it to the doorway, the sound of heavy footsteps clunking down the staircase reached their ears, and everyone froze. Eyes all darting to the doorway, drinks paused halfway to mouths, they stared as a fat, white-bearded man appeared, dressed in a long red coat trimmed in white with a fat black belt fastened above his belly. With rosy cheeks over the most embarrassed face any of them had ever seen, Mr. Kokoschka stood in full Santa garb and awkwardly laughed, "Ehehehe… Merry Christmas?"

Amanda dropped the gift in her hand in shock and stared, jaw slack, as Helga gawked a few seconds more before shooting her eyes over to Mr. Hyunh and Mr. Potts, who were both currently sporting grins that took up the entire bottom half of their faces.

Before anyone could truly react, however, Phil let out a large snort and raised his slingshot high over the couch, loaded and ready with peppermint hard candy. "Ohhh no, I'm not falling for that again!" He released, and candy after candy pelted Oskar in the chest, stomach, shoulders, face—and it wasn't but two seconds before he was yelling and nervously laughing and ducking behind the wall. "Ehehe, stop it, little boy, you're going to poke Santa's eye out!"

"That's the plan," Phil yelled, one eye clenched shut as he aimed and fired again, this time watching as the hard candy shattered against the wall where Oskar ducked. Ernie, standing beside Mr. Hyunh now with a look of smug, stated in deep satisfaction, "Best gift I ever gave." Suzie gasped and grunted with each candy that hit home, wincing and grimacing the whole time for her poor husband.

"Phil!" Amanda gasped, racing over to tug his arm back before he could seriously injure her hero. "Stop it! Stop!"

Phil seethed, yanking his arm back from her grasp so he could reload. "Don't get involved with this, 'manda, this is bigger than the both of us!" Zack coughed to conceal a mutter of, "That's not saying much," from his position by Grandpa Phil and the old man snickered slightly, hiding it the best he could behind his hand.

Just as Phil was aiming and ready to hit Oskar Clause square in the face, Amanda rounded the couch and jumped in way of his slingshot, just as he was about to release. Phil yelped in shock and quickly reaimed, sending the candy smashing against the ceiling and making everyone instinctually jump. Small particles of mint rained down on Amanda and stuck in her hair, but she just continued to stare steadfastly into Phil's gobsmacked face.

The next second Phil was throwing his slingshot down and yelling in rage, "Amanda Faith, move this instant and never do that again! I could have _killed_ you! Do you have any idea how hard this stuff is? It's like bullets!"

"No!" she cried. "I'm not moving until you promise to stop hurting Santa!"

Phil looked livid, but just as he was opening his mouth to retort a tear suddenly fell from Amanda's eye and trailed down her cheek. Phil blanched, his passion twisted features instantly falling into destitution.

Helga looked horrified, and ran forward to envelop her daughter in a swift embrace. Amanda clung to her, and Helga shushed her quietly, rubbing her back as comfortingly as she could. She shot a fearsome look over to Ernie and Mr. Hyunh then, who both went pale and looked properly abashed. Oskar remained hidden in the doorway, looking a cross between utterly terrified and lost to agitation.

Before any words could be spoken in the tense atmosphere, there was a knocking on the door.

Nobody looked particularly willing to go answer it, though. Everyone stood for a long moment in nervous indecision, all knowing someone had to go answer it, before Zack cleared his throat and silently volunteered, wanting to be of use, even as he didn't feel right about leaving his sister in such a state. Even still, he selfishly wanted to get away from the uncomfortable atmosphere and scathing looks of his mother, and he fled the room in a run.

After watching her son out, Helga spoke in a hushed tone to the room, "No more games here, capiche? No pranks, no schemes, no fighting. Not on Christmas." She sent a sharp look to Hyunh and Ernie as she said this final part, tight-lipped and strict. Arnold walked over to put a supportive hand to his wife's back, hoping to calm her down. It worked. Her shoulders eased a bit and Amanda poked her eyes up over one to peek at him, all the while having a view of the doorway. Footsteps could be heard getting closer.

Soon the smiling, kindly face of Sophie Carpenter was in the doorway. With her inky black hair falling over her shoulders like water, and her regularly tanned face pale and flushed from the cold, she made a lovely sight. Her light crystal eyes were overbright upon entering the room, and she was in the process of pulling off a pair of leather gloves when her eyes came to land on the stricken faces and rigid statures that occupied the room. She stopped dead. Her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked a couple times, staring at them all. They stared back. Finally, she asked, "I'm sorry, did I come at a bad time?"

Zack came to stand beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders in reassurance, kissing her temple. "Not at all, babe. No time can be bad with you."

Sophie's eyebrows were high on her forehead as she came to notice Mr. Kokoschka cowering a few inches away, and she shot an alarmed look between Mr. and Mrs. Shortman. "Is there anything I can help with?" She slipped politely out of Zack's arm and sent him a quick smile, finishing her task of pulling her gloves off as she walked further into the room.

Both Arnold and Helga opened their mouths at the same time to reply, when Amanda, near to bursting, forgot all about her previous upset and waved her arms at their guest. "Sophie!" she squealed, positively beaming.

Sophie grinned back and held her arms out in welcome, which Amanda eagerly tried to jump into. Sophie just chuckled and pulled her into her arms, giving her a tight hug. Helga laughed at this development and clapped her hands at the two. "Oh, yeah, great, steal my kid, why don't ya?"

Sophie chuckled warmly, sharing a conspiratory look with Amanda as she answered, "Never, Mrs. Shortman, the thought has never crossed my mind." She winked to the little girl, who promptly burst into a fit of giggles.

Everyone looked properly relieved by this, and resumed conversation amongst themselves, the room falling back into comfortable warmth just as quickly as it had stunted. Ernie and Mr. Hyunh chattered amongst themselves energetically, with Suzie adding in her two cents here and there with a feisty tapping of her foot. Stella placed a hand on Phil's shoulder as Miles tried to bring him out of his stupor and quell his fresh abhorrence with Sophie's now being in the room. Ham stood awkwardly in the corner, getting an impromptu palm reading from his great-grandmother and once again questioning his choices in life. Grandpa Phil meanwhile seemed more than content to watch the proceedings from his chair, sipping at eggnog and snickering under his breath. And Pam—naturally—was standing in awestruck elation, because, holy crap, there was a girl her age here now. Someone she could actually _relate_ to. That hardly ever happened.

"Thanks for your service, Sophie." Arnold grinned, ever pleased with his son's choice in girlfriend.

"Oh, it's never any trouble. Whatever you need me for." She smiled, rocking side to side with Amanda in her arms. Zack was standing in the doorway staring when he snapped out of it and decided to try to join in the conversation. She was his girlfriend, after all—she wasn't dating his parents. She was dating _him_.

"So, Sophe," he bounced up to stand beside her, trying to hide how much her display had thrown his emotions in disarray, "how has your Christmas been so far?"

"Oh," Sophie let out a harsh sigh, surprising him. "I've been awake since five AM. There was an emergency or something—I don't know, they had it resolved by the time I got there. And by then we just decided to head out so we could get the toys to the orphanage before anyone woke up. It was exhausting, but I think they had a wonderful Christmas, so I'm very pleased." She grinned at him, the picture of loveliness. Zack felt a pang in his chest.

"I meant with your family," he chuckled, returning her grin teasingly.

Sophie's eyes widened. She looked genuinely surprised for a split-second, and then she let out a faint laugh, embarrassed. "Oh. Well, Mom actually helped with the toy drive, so most of the day was dedicated to that. Then we did stop by the house with Dad to have some hot chocolate and exchange gifts, but it was very brief. I had a few other engagements I couldn't miss." Bouncing a little on her feet and looking kindly at Amanda's happy face, she continued quietly, "This is actually the first moment I've had to breathe all day."

Zack frowned in time with both his parents, and the three blonds stared for a long moment as she swayed and exchanged smiles with Faith. Sophie didn't seem to notice. Finally, Zack said, "Well, what did you get?"

Sophie looked at him blankly. "Get?"

Zack gave a long-suffering sigh, only half-joking in the gesture, before he smiled patiently at her. "From your parents? As in gifts?"

"I got poems!" Amanda chirped excitedly, trying to help along the conversation. Sophie smiled widely at her and retorted, mirroring her excitement, "That sounds like a wonderful gift!"

"Suzie gave it to me." Amanda beamed, her bow falling over into her face. Helga unconsciously reached forward to push it out of the way, feeling a swell of adoration for her.

"I got a hat," Zack laughed, and produced said hat from where it was hanging out of his pants to place it on Sophie's head, grinning mischievously. A burst of air flew past Sophie's lips at the gesture, as a waterfall of black hair crowded both sides of her face, covering her eyes. Amanda giggled and pushed it back up, leaving Zack the happy job of pushing her hair back behind her ears, as her arms were currently engaged. Sophie smiled gratefully at him for it, and he worked hard not to let his softening heart show on his face.

"Well, dang," another voice intervened. This time Zack wasn't able to hide his face, or the grimace that had just taken hold of it. Pam came saddling up between Sophie and him, smiling at Sophie like she was the answer to world hunger. Which, in all reality, she probably was. Something changed in her face then, and she threw her freshly sarcastic eyes over to Zack, smirking ever so slightly. "That's the most action I've seen you get in weeks. You must be so proud. Your fingers tingling like crazy from such strange, foreign contact, Sassy?"

Zack snorted, shooting her a rueful look. "Oh-ho, you just wait. There's some mistletoe in the closet with our names on it."

"In the closet?" Sophie arched an eyebrow.

"Well, I was going to have it be a _surprise_," Zack stretched his arms out with an eye roll, joking, before he dropped the act for a devilish smirk in her direction. "But what the hey? Merry Christmas."

Sophie just blinked at him, eyebrow still arched, before shifting her eyes over to share a silent look with Pam. While Sophie's face was still for the most part expressionless, Pam held no qualms against showing exactly what her opinion of the matter was on her face. She rolled her eyes full circle and shook her head, her nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. Sophie couldn't help but smile.

"Yes," Arnold cut in flatly, his eyes hooded and glinting with subtle sarcasm towards his son's antics. Helga just smirked, amused. "Well, _anyway_." He smiled at Sophie, the joke of the moment forgotten. "You haven't said what you got for Christmas yet."

"Oh, well," Sophie reached over to hand Amanda back over to Helga, and lifted the hand still holding her leather gloves up for them to see, "I got some new leather gloves." She chuckled in her throat, the sound really more of an unstable hum. She looked down to her skinny jeans then, pulling her shirt up to show her belt. "And a new belt with some hoisters for my phone, pager, beeper, keys, wallet, band aids—"

"Wow, and what else, the lost city of Atlantis? What don't you have?" Pam looked at her incredulously.

Sophie graced her with a wide smile. "A sandwich. I haven't eaten in hours." Looking almost ashamed, she threw a look over to Mr. and Mrs. Shortman and quietly asked, her voice low and sultry even as she wasn't trying to make it so, "You wouldn't happen to have some food lying around here, would you?" Zack's eye twitched.

"We would." Arnold smiled warmly, gesturing a long arm out towards the kitchen. "Veggie sub and gingerbread cookies?"

"Sounds perfect," Sophie breathed in relief, and began following Arnold out of the room. She stopped, though, for just a moment to glance over towards the couch, feeling eyes on her back. Her eyes came in direct contact with sharp green, but rather than being uncomfortable with Phil's blatant staring, she smiled brightly and waved. "Hey, Phil. How's that flower I gave you?"

Just before she continued walking and disappeared into the doorway, he managed to answer, darkly, "It died." He glared at her retreating back, and muttered beneath his breath, "Yeah, you'd better run."

Zack stared after her as well, though with a much different expression, before one of his more characteristic grins burst onto his face and he bounced slightly, looking at his mother and sister. "I'm glad she was able to make it."

"Oh, I'm sure you are," Helga snorted, the broad smirk that had been inhabiting her face for the entirety of the exchange undimmed. "Mistletoe in the closet indeed. You mind if your father and I borrow this mystical closet afterwards? It sounds like a hoot."

Zack's face twisted in mortification. "Gross, Mom. We don't need anymore siblings."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Who said anything about siblings?"

"Pee-wee Herman over here, probably," Pam smirked, pointing a discreet finger out from her clasped hands towards what she was referring. "Guys minds are eternally skipping all the bases and skidding straight into the gutter."

Zack gaped at her, affronted. "Well, excuse me for trying to make a joke," he sniffed, his lets shifting subconsciously.

Amanda looked amongst them all, confused.

"Can I come in now?" Oskar Clause asked warily, sticking his head around the doorway to glance around.

Phil shouted "No," at the same moment Amanda firmly stated, "Yes," and Oskar looked between the two frantically. Helga just rolled her eyes and waved him over. "Come on in, Santa, it's not Christmas without your fat ass shagging around." Pam slapped a hand over her mouth quickly to smother her laugh.

As Oskar walked in and Helga served as his bodyguard, she shot a quick look to Zack. He understood, and grabbed Pam's arm so he could pull her in his brisk walk over to stand at the back of the couch. Distracting Phil while Mr. Kokoschka was tending to Amanda wasn't difficult, as all Zack had to do to capture his attention was to casually state within hearing distance, looking at Pam, "I think my only regret this year was that Sophie couldn't visit more often." He pursed his lips tight against a smirk as Phil predictably snapped his head around to glare at him.

Pam didn't get it, however, and slapped his hand away from her arm in disgust, which she quickly tried to cover up with a joking, "Ah, come on, Brow, one of you has earn the bacon out of the two of you if you're gonna get married, and it certainly isn't going to be you."

To her total surprise, both Zack and Phil snorted in unison at that. She'd only known the two of them a few weeks, but it had quickly become her impression that they never agreed on anything, ever, as a rule, so she was naturally taken aback by the smirk the two brothers exchanged, as if they found something immensely entertaining.

Phil was the first one to speak, in his usual droll fashion, "While I agree Zack is doomed to be a freeloading loser," Zack shot him a look that was utterly ignored, save the widening of Phil's smirk, "Sophie can't hold down a job to save her life. She'll be busy undoubtedly, but just as much a penniless loser as Zack."

Pam raised an eyebrow at this. Her first instinct was to defend her new friend, but she didn't, mainly because her experience with Zack had made her warier than usual of assumptions. Zack had judged her immediately based on the color of her hair, and she'd judged him by his popularity—of course, she'd reprimanded herself upon reading his poem and decided to give him a second chance, but he'd utterly shot that and reinforced her loathing, and now she found herself stuck with an intense dislike that drove a deep soul-defining urge to tease the hell out of him, even while doing her best to remain civil. Her first instinct wasn't usually to be hateful, but something about Zack brought it out in her. Still, she was trying to get along with him, and so far she hadn't killed him. Yet.

She had always liked Sophie, though. She doubted anyone _could_ dislike her, and anyone who claimed so was merely a victim of jealousy. Even after her ditching her for dating Zack, and then becoming friends with the very same Zack on a deal and thus making her an extreme hypocrite, and then trying to reestablish the bud of friendship with her, Sophie was perfectly understanding, if not a bit amused by the whole affair. She seemed to have a deep sense of self-assurance in her—not like Zack's obnoxious egotism, but just a subtle confidence that flowed around her like a calming breeze. With her poise, drive and passion, Pam thought she'd be able to undertake any job that came her way with ease.

And yet, Zack shocked her, "Sophie'll never be a loser, Phil. But I will admit, her goodness can definitely be a flaw at times. She doesn't understand the concept of business." He chuckled slightly, as if he found it endearing and embarrassing at the same time. "She's gotten fired from so many jobs, I've lost count."

"Fifty-seven," Phil drawled.

Zack shot him the fish-eye as Pam blinked in confusion. "What does she do?"

Phil replied before Zack could, taking obvious joy in the topic, "She gives the merchandise away." He snickered then in the most startlingly malicious way, and Pam was struck by his sheer, unblushing hatred of Sophie. He had no reason to be jealous of her, though—and she didn't appreciate being proven wrong. How could anyone hate someone that disarmingly kind? It made little sense. Still, he went on, "Just last month, she was working at that old flower shop two blocks over, and any time someone took an interest in the front displays, she'd think to herself, 'Oh, it's just a few flowers, it couldn't hurt,' and hand them over. Next thing anyone knew, she'd given away two batches." Pam's eyebrows flew high.

Looking back to Zack, she noted with amusement that he had his head thrown in his hands. For a second she thought he was genuinely ashamed, but when he lifted his head up the slightest bit to glance at her she saw that his eyes were glazed over with laughter. He opened his mouth for a second, as if trying to say something, before closing it abruptly and throwing his head back into his hands, his shoulders shaking. Pam couldn't help but cough out a laugh or two herself, the energy contagious.

Finally Zack seemed to get a grip, and he threw his head back up with a hasty suck of air, before stating simply, though still clearly amused, "Sophie helps people. But she doesn't know how to help herself. It's adorable. It's not just the jobs either—she has all sorts of bites and marks on her arms and legs because she refuses to kill bugs."

"Zack has fire ant scars on his feet from one time he was out with her and she wouldn't let him kill them," Phil said cheekily.

"The things I do for love." Zack shook his head.

"Well, for Pete's sake, if all that's true, why are you dating her?" Both Zack and Phil snapped their eyes onto her, and she met Zack's look skeptically. "If she's got that many problems, it sounds to me like she needs to be with someone _completely_ self-serving." Her eyes lit up then, and she smirked, shooting a look over to Phil. "Maybe you should date her."

For a split second he looked positively gobsmacked, then offended, then repulsed, and finally his face settled on horrified. Pam couldn't resist laughing at the extreme reaction and slapped her hands over her mouth to keep the volume down best she could.

It was to no avail, as Big Bob, who had been grumbling boredly to his wife nearby, heard the commotion and looked over. It didn't take long after that for him to decide he should be taking part in whatever was so amusing, and he began walking in their direction.

Neither Zack nor Phil noticed this however, and Zack began to get very defensive, his unibrow furrowing low. "Sophie's too good for someone like Phil, Pam. Why would you even suggest something like that? And while I'm right here, no less? She's _my_ girlfriend."

Phil seemed to snap out of his horror at this, and his eyes caught fire in a very dangerous way that Zack didn't have the presence of mind to be concerned over. "Too good for someone like _me_? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, please, Phil." A quick sigh escaped Zack's lips as he rolled his eyes, as if he expected better of him to even ask. "Besides the obvious fact you're the most unromantic person on the face of the planet, you're selfish, rude, socially inept, and just plain boring. You know I love you, you're my baby brother, but you're always saying honesty is the best policy so let's be honest here."

"Boring?" Phil all but squeaked in indignation. Big Bob was standing but a few feet away, but still neither noticed him. Pam looked between the two in concern, wary of the stout, bulking man.

Zack shrugged, looking at him levelly. "Well, yeah. I mean, you spend your days doing nothing but watching TV, you watch movies in black and white, you listen to the most mind numbing music, you read books that were written centuries ago that _nobody_ reads anymore, and… hell, Phil, I can't even think of anything else. You don't really _do_ anything."

"I don't do anything?" he seethed, rising up from the couch to turn around and lean over the back of it towards him, his jade eyes two clumps of slitted coal. He harshly retorted, "As opposed to doing what? What you do? Run all over the place like an obnoxious cur with people you barely even know? Listen to tasteless screaming that only pretends it's music by make-up wearing freaks that smash instruments for sport and don't even know what a shirt is, or a haircut, or a _breath mint_? Just because I do things that you and your grain of sand for a brain can't understand doesn't mean I'm boring."

"Uh, you guys," Pam said nervously, staring straight into the stone face of Big Bob Pataki.

Zack ignored her, too busy staring incredulously at his furious little brother. "Obnoxious cur?"

"You heard me."

"No, I really don't think I did." Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood high and proud as he replied, "You didn't need to go on insulting me, Phil, I was just trying to respectfully explain why you and a girl like Sophie would never work."

"By calling me selfish, rude and boring? And then going on to tell me exactly _why_ you think I'm boring? What does any of that have to do with incompatibility?" Zack rolled his eyes very plainly at all that and Phil raised his voice slightly, "Most of those—according to you and Pamella over here anyway—are the antithesis of Sophie's 'good hearted selflessness,' and if what they say about opposites attracting is true, then you just explained why we _would_ be perfect for each other." Rising a little higher on the couch with his arms locked, he said tartly, "And just for the record, just because something's old doesn't mean it's boring. Some old things are great. Way better than any of the crap television and music companies are vomiting out nowadays!"

"Guys…" Pam tried a little louder.

Once again, she was ignored, and Zack actually almost looked mad. Amusement seemed to be the dominant emotion in his expression, but everything in his body language bespoke his defense. "Okay, fine then, Phil! Is this all your way of saying you want to steal Sophie away from me?" He held back a laugh.

Once again, horror was etched into every crevice of the young boy's face. "I would rather get eaten by a hoard of rabies-infested wildebeests!"

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much?"

"I am not a lady!"

"For Pete's sake, you idiots, shut up!"

Zack let out a sharp cackle and reached up to ruffle his hair so some strands fell over his right eye. Then suddenly he was declaring, waving his arms around, "Oh, look at me, I'm Phillip Shortman and I strut around talking about how much I hate girls even though I secretly _am_ one! Who wants to sing show tunes and act out every scene from Macbeth with me before crying ourselves to sleep over how perfect Humphrey Bogart is?"

For one terrifying moment it looked like Phil was literally going to explode. His face was bright red, his arms trembling, and it looked to Pam like he was only seconds away from having smoke blow out his ears. But then all that changed, and he was grinning bright and his eyes were wide and giddy, his tone slippery as he mocked, "Oh, and I'm Zachary Shortman, at your service. But please, call me Zack, since Zachary is way too long and I don't think I trust you with that many syllables. By my introduction I'm sure you've figured out already I'm an arrogant, self-obsessed loser who thinks he's way more clever than he actually is, but why don't I just beat that fact into your skull a couple hundred more times before lunch? You can watch me have sexual tension with that water fountain over there and listen to me tell you about how charming I am with my horse face and marker smear for an eyebrow."

Both Zack and Pam stared at him in jaw-dropped silence. And then Pam lost it and doubled over, crying into the fabric of the couch as she laughed like a hyena. The dramatic response seemed to snap Zack out of it enough to ask, dumbstruck, "Since when do you know what sexual tension is?"

Pam turned her head out of her arms slightly to peer at him, and laughed out in disgust, "How can that be what you got out of that?"

"Because I swear two months ago he was as clueless as a newborn. Oh, Phil, please tell me you haven't been googling things you ought not. Tell me you just heard the phrase on television and thought it sounded cool." Phil just blinked at him.

Pam slammed her head against the couch. "Idiot."

Zack shot a look at Pam's slumped over state, his mouth quirked high in one direction, before his eyebrow narrowed almost into a V and he pulled his pants up high, sucking in a large breath. "Okay, point taken. You want to play it that way, little man? Well game on." He cleared his throat in a purposely obnoxious manner before making his face as flat as possible. His voice dropped into a derisive drone, "Hi, I'm Phil, and I know I've only known you for five seconds, but I already hate your guts. Don't let my height fool you. On the inside, I'm an eighty-three year old man and if you come anywhere near my lawn I'll scream so loud your ears explode."

Phil narrowed his eyes, and smirked so hard it almost looked like a sneer. "Yeah? Well, I'm Zack and I love everything and everybody no matter what. I have unrealistic expectations and am blindly optimistic about everything the world has to offer. I'm probably going to get murdered one day in a back alley but that's okay, 'cause violence is for the weak and I'm too good to participate in that drivel anyway." He sniffed pompously, holding his nose high.

"You sound like a pretty swell guy, Zack, but I'm Phil so I'm afraid no matter what topic you try to broach, I'll emo it up and make you really uncomfortable. Ope, what's that you say? Kittens? Rainbows? Rainbows are the product of light reflected off of filthy rainwater and kittens are nothing but fluffy rats. And while I'm at it, may I just say that you have offended me in ways you can't even begin to comprehend by trying to have a pleasant conversation with me. Good day, sir. I must go and sit in a dark corner now and listen to sad jazz tapes and contemplate all the reasons I hate humanity." Pam slammed her head into the couch again, shaking with laughter. Phil saw this and instantly tensed up, working hard not to scowl.

"Really? 'Cause I'm Zack and I'm a lying, dimwitted simpleton with nothing better to do with my time than twist words around in my favor and stick my nose in other people's business 'cause I think I know everything!"

Zack's squinted his eyes at him and pursed his lips very hard for just a second, before bursting out, "I'm Phil and all the voices in my head sound like Ben Stein! Unless I forget to take my medication, then they're all Woody Woodpecker! Want to see me lose my nut? Just mention girls! I dare you—no, I _implore_ you. I love to give two-hour long lectures on pointless topics nobody wants to hear about." He snapped his feet together and arms to his sides, before yelling in a hush, "Girls are all evil! Love is a lie! I realize I'm only a kid but I've made a serious breakthrough and I must inform the masses!" He placed a fist under his chin, smiling as if he were having a pleasant conversation. "Did I mention I like to belittle my older and infinitely more attractive brother for thinking he knows everything, even though I'm the exact same way?" Zack smirked, and Phil broke character at this and reeled back, his face twisted in revulsion.

"Okay, okay, okay," Pam cried suddenly, pushing herself back up so she could grin at the two of them. "Let me do one now!" She cleared her throat, before stating in the pleasantest of tones, her voice clear and artificial, like a woman advertising diarrhea medication on TV, "Hi, I'm Arnold Shortman and I'm the nicest person in the universe. I have a perfect wife and giant family and we do everything together 'cause we're flawless. And if even one of my sons offends you in the slightest way and threatens that, I'll invite you into my social circle and treat you like royalty, because I am the embodiment of all that is good and kind." She fluttered her eyelashes. Phil stared at her.

"No! No, no, no, you did him all wrong." Zack gave a rapid back and forth of his head before clearing his throat, and looking down on her with gentle eyes and a hand to his chest. "Allow me." He took in a deep breath, before leveling his shoulders out rigidly and crossing his arms over his chest. The act was completed with a faintly tapping foot. "_Zachary Shortman_, what do you think you are doing trying to have a social life? I know I'm about as intimidating as a butterfly but maybe if I look at you hard enough and say your full name enough times, you'll finally just burst into flames. Then you'll never be able to do anything I don't like again."

This little speech elicited a snort from Pam and an eye roll from Phil. "You have a very warped image of Dad."

"I see what I see what I see." He chuckled, letting his arms drop to his sides. At Phil's continued expression of subtle disdain, he smirked very prominently and added, "Well, fine then, let's see your interpretation."

"No," he said flatly.

"Why not?"

"I don't think it was appropriate to even introduce him into the conversation." He flashed a look on Pam, making her blush slightly under his intense stare. "Especially not on Christmas and with a _guest_. Dad doesn't deserve it."

Zack's eyebrow flew skyward. "Oh, and I do?"

"Well, obviously."

Zack snorted and extended his arms out at his sides. "Please! Dad's not gonna get mad or anything. He knows how to laugh at himself. He needs to being married to Mom—speaking of which, I can do a killer impression of Mom. Check this out." He reached up to flatten his hair out and smirked, raising his voice into an overexaggerated falsetto, "Hiya, I'm Helga G. Shortman and you'd better not let me catch you doing anything bad because I'll introduce you to Betsy and the Five Avengers faster than you can say purple pumpernickel." He let out a shrill, girlish laugh.

"Betsy and the what?" Pam raised an eyebrow. Meanwhile Phil was in the process of thoroughly palming his face.

Zack broke the act to laugh openly, his hand still holding the top of his head. "Five Avengers. And before you ask, no, I don't know what that means."

Phil stunted for a second upon hearing this, before he whipped his hands off his face and shot him a look of disbelief. "They're her _fists_."

Zack stopped dead at that, and looked at him wide-eyed. "They are?"

"_Yes_. I can't believe you didn't know that."

"It just never registered…" He blinked, his mind blown. His mouth slowly opened, a hundred realizations hitting him all at once, the force of which caused his hand to drop off of his head and flop to his side. "Ohhhh… wow… It all makes sense now." He became suddenly animated and grabbed at his head, startling both parties. "My whole life is a lie!"

"Yes," Phil responded in accordance, calmly. "Yes it is."

"Whoa, whoa, your mom names her fists?" She blinked incredulously, meanwhile shooting looks at where Bob was standing not a few steps behind Zack, trying to look casual even though to anyone watching it was obvious he was listening in on their conversation. He must be truly bored to be seeking entertainment in the form of two teenagers and a preteen but there it was. She felt an odd sense of comradery with the man at this point, being the only one to know of his presence. That probably wasn't wise but whatever.

Phil smirked at her question, clearly proud of this fact. "Yeah."

"Is nobody gonna comment on how dead on my impression was?" Zack raised his voice over their conversation.

Phil let out a sound snort at that and repliedl, "Your impression of Mom is weak at best. You only think you can do a good impression of her because you look just like her."

"He does?" Pam blinked at Phil, then at Zack, and looked at him very intensely. She tilted her head to the side. Then the other side. And pursed her lips. "I don't know. I don't really see it. I mean, they have the same eyes, complexion, and hair color, but other than that I'd say he's much too ugly."

Zack's lashes fluttered against an expressionless face, as if his brain didn't know how to process a comment like that.

"Are you kidding?" Phil gaped at her. "They're both tall, long-legged, bug-eyed—" he coughed, "I mean, big-eyed, in Mom's case—they talk in a very similar fashion, they smirk the same way, Zack has her unibrow…" He shook his head at the floor, as if he found it a pity. "Zack's like a newer, male, over-vamped version of Mom. Only instead of being an improvement, he downgraded, continues to get worse as time goes on, and consistently brings disgrace to the entire family."

"Wait, what?" Pam shot him a look of shock. "He got the unibrow from your _mom_?" A picture of the pretty blue-eyed woman flashed in her mind, and her eyes seemed only capable of growing wider at the moment. She tried to picture the woman with a unibrow but it just didn't seem to fit.

Phil blinked at her, his face blank and voice toneless, "You seem to have an innate ability at missing the point."

"Oh-ho-ho, okay, hold the phone for just a second here…" Zack rejoined the conversation unexpectedly, looking at Pam with a look of disturbance and unmasked derision. "Did she just call me ugly?"

"And you're unnaturally slow today. Okay, my patience is spent. This conversation's over." Phil turned back around and flopped back into sitting on the couch, before standing up and walking calmly out of the room.

Pam watched him go, and stared off in doorway he'd disappeared into for a few seconds, before looking back to Zack. "Your mom doesn't really have a unibrow, does she?"

Zack looked at her stonily. His reply was a terse, "Yes. She shaves."

"Like every morning? Next to your dad?"

"I don't know."

"Does she wax it then? Tweezers? Lasers?"

"Like I said, I don't know."

"How do you know she has one then?"

"Pictures."

"So you've never actually seen it?"

"I have."

"When?"

"I don't know."

"Is it really thick and luxurious like yours?"

"I guess, I—Are you asking me these questions just to get on my nerves?"

"Well, duh." She grinned.

"Great," Zack let out a slow breath, trying to summon his patience back. His shoulders went stiff suddenly then, and he began slowly backing away. His eyes focused resolutely on her chin. "I think Phil had the right idea. I'll go see what's keeping Sophie so long." And just like that, he had turned around and was gone, leaving her and her cheeky expression in the past, for now. Pam beamed at his retreating back, relieved to finally have that experience over with. She still found it funny that he was so determined to be on pleasant terms with her even though he clearly didn't like her. She continued to hang around him and Jaron at school purely because she was still somewhat new and wasn't really acquainted with anyone else, but he rarely addressed her unless he absolutely had to, and when he did it was often only in short intervals and _always_ joking. Sometimes he had trouble even looking her in the eye, which she gave him a tough time about just… 'cause she could. It was a pathetic little excuse for a friendship they had, but there it was.

Ironically, the blustery, bad-tempered Phil had spoken to her more like a human than his older brother had—or ever had, really. After her past experiences with him she'd expected him to automatically despise her, especially after the intense way he'd taken to staring at her when she was around, but so far all she'd seen from him was the occasional look of annoyance and amusement. She didn't know why he wouldn't hate her. Based on Zack's assessments of him, he hated girls. All girls. As a rule. She fell under the category of girl, didn't she? Of course she did. There was no reason he shouldn't hate her. So why the hell didn't he?

Okay, wait. Was she actually getting offended over an eleven-year-old _not_ hating her? Where had her sense run off to this time?

But then again, he did seem to like that she irritated Zack. Maybe he thought they were on the same side or something? The 'I Hate Zack' club? Not too many people seemed to dislike him, so maybe he thought of it as a really rare, admirable trait in a person. Enough so that he was willing to overlook her gender in order to have someone to share his dislike with. So… he looked at her like a unicorn. A _hateful_ unicorn.

It was an unlikely notion, but it was the only thing she could think of that made any sense.

But, whatever the reason, she was just glad that the two of them were gone. Now that she was alone, she could dedicate her time to speaking with some more agreeable people. Like Mr. Hyunh. She'd wanted to talk to him for weeks now. She'd downloaded "The Simple Things" on her iPod a couple weeks ago for just such an occasion, and she had an autograph book with his name on it. Or rather, it _would_ have his name on it. Very soon.

In her eagerness, she completely forgot about Big Bob and his odd lurking behavior, and didn't think twice about the fact he was no longer anywhere to be seen.

* * *

><p>Despite the rocky beginning, Helga had to hand it to him. Oskar did a decent job pretending to be Santa. The 'ehehehes' were exchanged for 'ohohohos' and thanks to his freakish love of food that rivaled even Harold's, he didn't need the fat suit to look the part. It was strange, though—she hadn't been informed of any random Santas showing up today. She knew he'd been working at the mall downtown as the Santa Clause, of course, and she had nagged Arnold into nagging him into dressing up for Christmas, but he'd given a very whiny "No" as his answer so this was definitely unexpected. Not the bad, "I just lost my job again and need you to lend me money" kind of unexpected like she'd come to associate him with, either. Not that that happened very often, of course—or at least not as much anymore.<p>

Oskar would always be Oskar, after all, but the years had definitely changed him for the better. Suzie had been on the verge of divorcing him (again) when Helga had come onto the scene, freshly engaged to Arnold Shortman and moved into the Sunset Arms.

His gambling addiction had always been well-known to anyone who spent more than five minutes in his presence, but nobody cared enough to really call him out on it, save Arnold a few times over the years when he'd gotten particularly exasperated. Oskar would often agree that he did have a problem and that he would do better in the future, but then go on to bet the microwave and DVD player in a game of Go Fish. Ordinarily Helga had little tolerance for that kind of bullshit, and she had resolved herself to totally ignore him – Arnold's family or not – but one day she'd caught him looking very defeated at the bottom of the stairs, and he looked up at her with the most forlorn expression she'd ever seen.

Oskar was the type of person to rely on people's pity, and Helga was the type to not care two wits about anyone unless she felt they were truly worthy of her time, so the puppy dog eyes did little to move her. She supposed that had always been the problem with Mr. Kokoschka—everyone always either ignored him, yelled at him, or took pity on him, and though normally Helga would have just spit on him and gone on her merry way, in that moment she found that she couldn't.

He was just as pathetic as her. Just in a different way. And try as she might, she couldn't deny that he did _try_. According to her fiance's past stories of him, he'd worked hard on his paper route, worked hard to learn how to read, loved his nephew to death, and let his wife keep the money from time to time. She thought that a part of him clearly wanted to be good, but he just didn't know how. Like her.

Likening herself to Mr. Kokoschka had made her want to fling herself off the nearest skyscraper, but it was at that moment she decided she was sick and tired of him and she wasn't going to deal with seeing him and Suzie at odds anymore. After so many years of marriage, he obviously wasn't going anywhere. Suzie loved him despite what a douche bag he was and though Oskar didn't always act like it, he obviously loved her too. Whether anyone liked it or not, he was a part of the family, so if she was going to be stuck with him for the rest of forever, she decided she was going to whip him into shape. Besides, if everyone had taken one look at her, declared her a lost cause and walked away, she'd still be screaming at people and crying herself to sleep. She couldn't in good conscience leave him. Not without at least giving him a chance.

She cursed Arnold every day for that.

But then of course there was the fact she really loved Suzie and hated to see her stuck with such a loser, so there was that too.

Dr. Bliss had moved upstate long ago for one reason or another, so she'd had to seek out someone else for help on her project. And so, it was through a lot of hunting and performance reviews that she found Dr. Viksten, a marriage counselor who had had a lot of experience with "Oskar's kind." Suzie had been reluctant at the idea, but agreed to try if Oskar would pay for half of the costs, which basically meant he'd have to quit the paper route and get a real job. She hadn't expected him to actually do it, but three weeks later he was working in a tie factory. It was repetitive, menial work, easy to do but mind-numbing, and Oskar had whined a lot and cried that he hated it.

He went anyway. He eventually got fired, but he did go, which was a huge improvement (even if Helga was often the one grinding her teeth and daring him to go against her). And thus began a long chain of him gaining and losing jobs. He managed to pay for his half of the costs most of the time, and then other times found himself making calls and asking for a spare twenty dollars here and there. It was a very long, drawn out, rocky path that he rode on, but as long as Helga was around to glare at him and Dr. Viksten a phone call away, it was also a very effective one. He did treat Suzie better… he didn't treat _everyone_ better, but Suzie was appeased, so Helga was too.

To summarize, Oskar would always be Oskar, but he would also always be a part of the family. That weird, lazy uncle that gave you canned vegetables for gifts, smelled funny, and nobody liked, but a part of the family nonetheless. A part of the family who had dressed up as Santa Clause on Christmas day to make her little girl smile.

Later on she would find out the only reason he did it was because he lost a bet with Ernie and Mr. Hyunh, and her pleasant surprise would melt into smug, sadistic satisfaction, but that was later on. Now she was just happy.

Amanda was eager to hop into his lap and chatter his ear off, and chatter she did. She started off in a string of apologies for her "silly older brother's" actions, which Oskar had responded predictably to—he wouldn't dare veer off script, not with her standing right beside them staring stony-eyed throughout the entire exchange. After the apologies had been extended, Amanda went on to tell him Phil really wasn't so bad and that he shouldn't hold the little mishap against him, to which Helga had broken her severe countenance just to beam at. She was just like her father, always looking for the best in people. Despite the mannerisms she'd picked up from she-who-shall-not-be-named and endless spouts of creampuffy enthusiasm, she could never have been more proud of her little ray of sunshine than at that moment. After all, it was that attitude that had won her Arnold's affections.

After that, she went silent and looked down at her lap, and Oskar asked very nervously, "Ohohoho, what is the matter?"

She looked up at him with big jellybean green eyes and quietly replied, "I can't think of anything that I want."

Oskar went blank-faced at that, and blinked a couple times. He couldn't very well understand that. Finally, he suggested, "Well, maybe you should ask for a peppermint candy. I have lots." He reached up and pulled his hat off, letting loose three of said candies to fall into her lap. He laughed his slippery laugh then as he placed his hat back on, saying, accent heavy, "See? Magic!"

Amanda picked up one of the candies and giggled. Her eyes lit up then with an idea, and she whipped her head at him in excitement. "Oh, I know what I want!"

Oskar relaxed back in the chair, his tone casual, "Oh? What's that?"

She pulled a small wrapped gift out from behind her back and held it up for him to see. "I got this gift for Uncle Oskar but I haven't seen him all day. Do you think you could give it to him for me? And make sure he's okay?"

Her eyes were so wide and earnest that Oskar felt oddly touched. He flicked his eyes over to glance at Helga, then quickly glanced away from her stone-cold face out of anxiety. She wasn't giving anything away. But Amanda was, so he 'ohohohoed' and asked a tad smugly, "You want me to give your old Uncle Oskar a present?"

Amanda nodded, holding the gift up higher for him to take. "And make sure he's all right."

Oskar hesitated only a second before taking the box from her, weighing it with his hand. It was light, small, and short. Definitely not anything very expensive. Humming, he asked, examining the box further as if he could see through the packaging to what lay beneath, "What is it?"

"A tie," she chirped, and Oskar dropped his eyes from the box to her face in disappointment.

"For his new job," Helga's voice came from behind him and made him jump. Snapping his eyes to hers, he found that she was smirking now, in that broad, evil way he'd become so unfortunately accustomed to. "He'll be working at Big Bob's unloading merchandise." Oskar's brain stuttered to a stop at this news and his neck nearly snapped from turning his head so fast in Big Bob's direction. He was standing casually against a wall across the room, his face wrinkled but serious as he gulped down his eggnog before crushing the cup in his fist. Oskar's pupils dilated.

And Helga grinned a grin that wasn't a grin at all. "Merry Christmas, one and all!"

Oskar slammed his head back against the chair with a groan.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day went off without further disruption (or at least not any disruption they hadn't already expected). They sang Christmas carols to Ernie's new accordion and Gertie's piano. The Johanssens came over to wish them a Merry Christmas and Jaron and Zack guffawed over how big the tree was, with commentary like, "Now <em>this<em> is Godzilla's Christmas tree!" They ate their dinner over a loud, chaotic table and snorted and made funny conversation over bad Christmas specials. They went outside shortly to throw snowballs at each other at 8 PM while Phil scolded and yelled at them – which resulted in him getting a snowball to the face – before they all rushed back inside to gulp down a gallon of hot cocoa. Mr. Hyunh's daughter and her family showed up at one point in the day to visit and exchange gifts. Pam's brother honked her out of the house to go home not long after the visitors arrived, and Helga was almost as relieved to see her go as Zack was—she'd been giving her the funniest looks all day, and they made her feel very self-conscious for some reason.

Sophie stayed over an hour after Pam left, and talked in friendly, quiet tones to Mr. Hyunh and his daughter. Helga watched Zack stare at her and smirked to herself whenever she saw him try to drag her out of the room. Most likely to that closet he'd been talking about, but Sophie kept finding new people she needed to talk to that stalled the proceedings. If the girl was trying to make Zack crazy, she was certainly doing a good job. Helga mentally applauded her. She left shortly after speaking with Lola on coral reef preservation before looking at her watch and making a hasty departure. Zack had been bummed out ever since, but on the bright side her and Arnold got to test out the closet mistletoe. She made sure to let Zack know it worked great. And the day was an overall success.

Arnold had hem-hawed most of Christmas eve in worry over whether or not today would go well. She'd told him everything would be fine, but hadn't been very forceful with it's delivery, as she knew he had reason to be anxious and there wasn't much she could say. There had been a _few_ disastrous Christmases in their past that had made him wary, what with the Patakis and Shortmans all being under the same roof, but as usual, his worrying was a pointless effort, and of course, _she_ was right.

At present, she stood on the roof of the Sunset Arms, staring down at the snow piled high on the stoop. It had snowed not a half hour before, and Helga had always enjoyed the snow. The air was frisk and biting, her face was no doubt flushed pink and her arms were wet from leaning against the wall, but she loved it. She knew she should probably be getting back inside, that everyone was undoubtedly falling asleep and she should too, but it was the first moment of peace she'd had for three days, and she wanted to take advantage of it.

She didn't know when they'd be heading back home—over the holidays Arnold's family had a knack of convincing them to stay longer than they normally might. They could very well be here for another week, and Helga wanted to brace herself for the impending arguments, yelling and being dragged around the city. Helga had always been more accustomed to silence, as her own home had always been so, but the colorful liveliness of Arnold's family never failed take her breath away. She loved them all dearly, but she valued her alone time, especially since she had gotten married.

Not because she wanted to be away from her husband or kids – hell no (or at least not too much) – but just because, when she was a child, the silence had always been suffocating. She'd hear a blender going, the television on, maybe the occasional argument, but otherwise she was alone and the house was silent and dead, and she'd felt it acutely. Being alone hadn't been pleasant back then, and she'd forced herself to adapt and take advantage of her parents' absence, but now she had the benefit of living in a happy household. Her private time now wasn't because she had no other choice. She had no reason to ever feel lonely or depressed anymore, and hadn't for a long time. No, now her time alone wasn't spent wallowing in self-pity and bitterness or trying to lose herself in thoughts of her beloved, but rather a time for pleasant reflection and lazy musing.

Still, she and her husband shared a mutual appreciation for silence, and had enjoyed many evenings in each other's company either working or reading. They led a very comfortable existence—or at least, they had before she'd gotten pregnant. Silence seemed all the more rare now, and so she found herself seeking it out whenever possible, especially now if she had an adventurous _week_ ahead of her. She needed time to be away from people. Even if those people were her family… Especially if those people were her family. Her lips pursed together unconsciously.

Arnold, with his naturally quiet, thoughtful disposition, didn't take long to join her.

She turned her head after hearing the latch click to see her husband making his way in her direction. She couldn't control the smirk that involuntarily came over her lips at how predictable he could prove to be. "Well, hey there, stranger, you come here often?"

"It's my roof," he replied archly, returning her smirk.

She raised her eyebrows at him, her look unchanging as she watched him saunter his way over to her. "Is that supposed to answer my question?"

She saw him roll his eyes, before he stopped at her side and draped a long coat over her, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders to ensure it stayed in place. Though it smelt of him, it held none of his warmth, and she knew then that he'd gotten it out of the closet for the sole purpose of giving it to her. His concern warmed her more than the coat could ever hope to, and she gave him an affectionate look. He just smiled and squeezed her shoulders before letting her go.

"So…" he leaned against the wall beside her, leaning on his blue-covered arms with his hands clasping together, "pretty crazy day."

She snorted, her eyes rolling over to focus back on the snow below them. "Naturally."

He hummed his agreement, undertone mildly amused, and then all was silent. They stared out over the neighborhood's lights and half-melted snowmen. The streetlights were all bright and giving a good view of the mix of black and white snow below them. Only a few lights remained on in the building across from their own, and amidst their thoughts neither noticed one of those lights click off.

The sound of Arnold taking a deep breath made her look at him. "You did like your gift?"

Helga coughed out an incredulous laugh and turned her back to the wall, shifting to support herself on her elbows as she leaned up against it. She sent him a saucy look as she replied, "Oh, yeah, new jewelry and a night on the town with my favorite husband? I can't wait."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Sarcasm?"

Her look softened. "No."

The smile he was trying to hide broke loose and he reached over to give her a push in the shoulder. "And since when am I your _favorite_ husband? I'm the only one you've got."

Helga gave a mock gasp and slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. "Oh, gosh, did I really say that?" She turned her back to him, and gave a shaky jerk of her head back and forth. Her voice trembled, as if with anxiety, "Oh dear, I didn't want to break the news to you until after Christmas, and especially not like this, but…" she sent a look to him over her shoulder, face half in shadow. "I may have had a little too much fun in Vegas last year."

Arnold seized her from behind and held her tight up against his chest, growling laughingly into her ear, "Impossible. Not my saint of a wife! It can't be true."

"Oh, but it is," she cried in anguish, hiding her eyes behind her hand in shame. "And that week I spent abroad back in college—Oh, I can barely speak of it! I have husbands everywhere, all over the world, and _you_ – you poor clueless sap – can never know the full truth of it! Oh, _so many lies_—"

"Shhh, shh," he shushed her, pressing his lips against her temple and closing his eyes with a smile. "You'll wake the kids…" She fell quiet at that, and pretended to be tense in his arms. After a long moment of just holding her against him, he asked quietly, a note of hopefulness in his voice, "I'm your favorite?"

Helga barked out a quick laugh before silencing herself quickly. Clearing her throat, she responded in kind, "Of course, my love. You'll always be at the top of the heap."

"What makes me better?"

Helga snapped her head around to look at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised high. "Excuse me?"

He met her eyes evenly. "You heard me. What makes me better?"

She blinked a couple times as she processed this, before a smirk slid slowly onto her lips. "Football Head…" she batted her lashes at him in an exaggerated fashion, her smirk more than a little amused now, "are you asking me to stroke your ego?"

He pursed his lips and looked up momentarily in a show of contemplation, before he met her eyes again and nodded. "I think it's the least you can do."

"Oh, of course, 'cause your head's not _nearly_ big enough."

"Never."

She looked down at his arms encasing her around her middle and toyed with the end of his sleeve. "And you have that pesky male pride to deal with, of course…"

His smirk could be heard in his voice, "Of course."

"And then there's that whole competition with Zack going on—"

"Oh, he won that a long time ago."

Helga snickered under her breath. "Agh, yeah, sorry. Didn't mean to bring up old wounds."

They were both silent for a beat, before he muttered in her ear, "Well?"

Licking her lips, she held tight to his arms and silently wondered when they'd started swaying back and forth. With a wicked grin, she ended his suspense, "_Well_… let's just say, my many – and I do mean _many_ – dealings with men over the years have given new meaning to the phrase 'It's a small world after all'—"

The swaying came to an abrupt stop and he crushed his forehead against her neck. She could feel his breath coming a little too fast against her back and smirked deviously to herself, squeezing his arms a little in a gesture of support. The next second he was speaking, "Oh, Helga, you didn't—"

"And yet I did, and I know you're not deaf. Don't tell me we're gonna be having denial problems again with you? I don't know if my delicate constitution can deal with that shit a second time."

She heard rather than felt him give a particularly heavy sigh in response, before he lifted his head back up and picked her up into his arms. She squeaked and grabbed tight to his neck, but he just laughed as he carried her back over to the skylight.

"I think I've heard enough for one night," he decided, giving her a very indignantly self-important look. "I've been mocked, teased, outright insulted and informed my wife has on more than one occasion defiled the sanctity of our marriage. That's more than enough, thank you."

She calmed down at his declaration, and looked at him with a wide grin. "Not half bad, huh?"

He rolled his eyes at her and stopped in front of the unlatched window. "Definitely more than half."

"Oh, get off of your high horse, Football Head, I'm sure I can't be the only one who's had a little fun." She played with the top button of his shirt peeking out through his sweater, smirking.

Arnold stopped dead, caught in the process of bending down to unlatch the window, and looked at her with the most concerned expression she thought she'd ever seen on him. She instantly had to hold back a laugh, but his expression remained unchanged by the struggle reflected in her eyes. "Oh, Helga, I could never do that to some poor girl. Her death would be cruel and unusual. No one deserves that."

"Ahhh, Arnold, Arnold…" She shook her head at him, looking at him with an adoring smile. "Nice try, but that's not the correct answer. Although you are right, I'd put every Saw movie to shame if I ever found her."

"Oh? And if that's not the right answer, then what is?"

"Why, 'I worship the ground my eternally flawless and intelligent wife walks on and other women have ceased to exist,' of course."

"So I have to worship you but you get to have an exotic husband collection?"

"Who said anything about exotic?" She shook her hair out and pushed some out of her face. She paused a moment then, her eyes shifting up in intrigue. "Then again, that's not a bad idea. When's our next trip to San Lorenzo?" He jostled her in his arms and she laughed, batting him in the arm. "Kidding, kidding—but let's be realistic here. Point one: I worshiped you for a long time, so it's only fair you return the favor." He twisted his face slightly and she chuckled, winding her arms snugly around his neck. "Point two: you're the do-gooder, saintly Samaritan type, Sweetheart. Sorry to disappoint you there, but I'm the wild one in this relationship. If either one of us was ever going to stumble into an unexpected relationship, it'd be yours truly." She touched a hand to her chest and smirked at him. He just raised an eyebrow.

"On a more serious note," he grunted slightly as he bent back over and worked to unlatch the window while having to support her in his arms, "what's with you and giving people ties lately? Not to say I don't love my new ones, but it seemed a bit out of the blue."

She hummed. "Avoiding my little speech, are you?"

"I have no response."

"You just don't want to admit that out of the two of us, you're the boring one."

"Louder and flashier doesn't necessarily mean less boring, Helga."

"Actually that's exactly what it means." She reached over and easily lifted the window open, so he could stop struggling with it. At her smug look, he tried to look angry, but it didn't last long. He smiled at her and set her down on her feet.

As she pulled the coat more firmly about her shoulders, she commented, "You know you were going to have to put me down anyway, I don't know why you didn't just do that before you started trying to open the stupid thing."

Arnold shrugged, already on his way down the steps. "I wasn't thinking."

"I think it was that male pride taking dominance over your brain again." He sent her a look and she sniggered, crouching down so she could begin her way down the steps after him. She spoke as she started her descent, very quietly but with a laugh in her voice, "Or maybe your more primitive side reacted unconsciously to our conversation and you wanted to keep a tight hold on your woman—" Halfway down and only a couple steps from hopping safely onto the bed, her foot slipped from the snow still stuck to the bottom of her shoe and a quick, concise screech that she tried desperately to keep quiet escaped her as she fell back, instinctively twisting her body around to hopefully catch herself on her hands. Instead she fell half twisted into her husband's arms, and Arnold caught her with a muffled yelp, stumbling backwards before he slammed his back against the shelf.

For a moment they just stood there, the bed still bouncing beneath them from the episode and her body held tightly and at a very awkward angle in his arms. Then, with no little amount of caution, Helga turned herself fully around so she could face him properly, practically having to pry herself out of his arms in the process, and looked him in the eye. The moonlight cast a shadow over his face, and she couldn't very well make out most of his features, but his eyes were there, white, wide and a beautiful emerald green. He stared back.

After a long moment, he whispered, "Why do I have a feeling you'd have been dead a long time ago without me around?"

There was a sudden burst of hot air against his face that smelled heavily of chocolate and popcorn, and he humphed and blew back. She broke into a silent coughing fit and pretended she was choking the second he did it, no doubt to annoy him, but he just laughed quietly under his breath and pulled her closer. She seemed more than happy to oblige him, because she quit the act and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He had been shorter than her for a good chunk of his life, but one thankful growth spurt in his mid-teens set him at equal height with her. And then an inch taller. And then an inch taller. He had been ecstatic at his growing, but it hadn't lasted for very long. Now deep into adulthood, he was only a few inches taller than her, but he found that he really couldn't complain—not with his wife so close to him, with her eyes a hypnotic and deceivingly innocent blue, and the moonlight casting a lovely glow over her pale face—and especially not when it was so easy for her to reach his—

"Don't even think about it," a sleepy voice croaked in the darkness.

The two adults stopped dead at the voice, and flushed a brilliant shade of pink, feeling much like naughty teenagers at the moment. But then they remembered themselves, and Arnold coughed out a laugh the same moment Helga cursed under her breath. It was like he had a sixth sense or something. He never missed a chance to break a mood. _This_ – this right here – was exactly why there needed to be more closets in the world, and she resolved to tell Arnold as much the next moment alone they had.

"Sorry, Sport," Helga responded after deciding this, extracting herself from her husband's arms to lower herself down to sit on the side of the bed. "Didn't know you were awake."

"Like that's an excuse," the voice muttered, sounding even sleepier than before. Helga smirked at her youngest son, sprawled on his stomach across the mattress they'd laid out long ago for some of their longer visits, that they'd been too lazy to ever really put away. Lord knew no one was ever going to be renting this room anyway so it hardly mattered.

Ham laid to Phil's right on his side, a bright pink blanket pulled up over his head, and Zack was spread out over the couch with his legs hanging over the other side, mouth wide open and out like a light. That boy could sleep on spikes and still be comfortable, she thought with a wince in his direction.

Arnold chose to respond this time, "We really are sorry, Phil. Go back to sleep."

Phil just gave a close-mouthed moan as his response and let his head plop back into his pillow.

After a moment or two, Helga stood up and turned back around to face her husband. He lowered himself carefully down to sit, and she took advantage of being the taller one in this position by grabbing him by his ridiculously tiny ears and planting a kiss on him. It lasted exactly three wonderful, blissful seconds, before the sound of a dying whale came from behind them and they broke apart, grimacing. Helga sent a sharp look at Phil over her shoulder, while Arnold felt a new level of awkwardness descend upon him and reached a hand back to rub the back of his neck.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" His quiet assumption grabbed her attention back, and she looked a bit unsure.

She asked, slowly, "You think Faith's still awake?"

Arnold smirked slightly. "Wide."

Helga sighed and drew herself back, her arms falling to her sides as she shifted her head back to stare blankly through the skylight. "Oh, joy. Crazy seven-year-old at 12 AM. Yippee."

"It won't be so bad," Arnold chuckled.

"Arnold…" she shot him a derisive look. "Did you see how many sugar cookies and hot chocolates that girl consumed?"

The pink blanket mound decided to answer this question, "Twenty-eight cookies, six hot chocolates, extra whipped cream on each, five with rainbow sprinkles."

"I thought it was thirty-two cookies," Phil said, lifting his head slightly to showcase the confusion on his face.

The pink mound responded simply, "No."

"Excuse me," Helga raised her voice slightly, not bothering to turn around, "this is your father and I's private conversation!"

Phil dead-panned, "You're having it three feet away."

"_Private!_"

Zack gave a loud snore suddenly and turned over on his side, murmuring something about whale tacos. Phil made another dying whale noise and let his head fall down into his pillow.

"Okay, look," Arnold brought the conversation back to the point, not wanting to wake up his eldest and most difficult-to-deal-with son, "you know Amanda, just get her to drink a big glass of water and pop in Oliver in Company. She'll be asleep before you know it. And if that doesn't work, you can always—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, break out the hungry, hungry hippos and warm milk." Helga grunted and grumbled something incoherent under her breath. She sighed then, glaring at a random spot on the carpet. "I know the drill."

Arnold smiled, and reached up to lift her chin so her eyes met his. "Hey, it won't be so bad. If she's still not asleep in an hour you have my full permission to wake me up and we'll get through this together. We both need to get some sleep, though, so the sooner you go down and face her the sooner we can all be in bed."

"Yeah, Mom, get out, it's boy's only."

Helga flew around to face Phil and cut her eyes at him dangerously. She spoke in a whispered shout, "Hey, hey, hey, I was here long before you, Buster! Don't use that tone with me. Especially not at this hour."

"But—"

"_No_."

"Mom—"

She made a soft buzzing noise.

Phil huffed impatiently and flicked his eyes to the sky. "Mom, if you'd just stop for—"

"_Nope_." She sliced her arms through the air, before folding them over her chest. "Access to snark denied. I am _confiscating_ your snark, officially. You can have it back once you've learned to use it against people who are not your mother. Like your father, for example. Snark him." She threw her thumb in his direction, still giving her son her best 'I'm the boss around here' face.

Arnold's face went flatter than paper. "_Helga_—"

"Ope!" Helga whipped her head around to grin at him. "And there's the tone you'll be using in defense to his snark. There we go, all sorted out." She dusted her hands off and traipsed over to the door, opening it up as quietly as possible so she could escape. Just before closing the door, she looked back at them all and smirked, nodding her head at them each individually. "Goodnight, husband, children…"

While Arnold stared at her, Phil and the pink mound both muttered a quiet, "Goodnight, Mom…" And with that, she was gone, the door softly clicking behind her.

A particularly phlegmy snore erupted from Zack's mouth, before he smacked his lips a couple times and fell back into the dead of sleep.

The pink mound remained completely frozen for a few seconds more after these sounds, before the blanket was cast aside to reveal a white-bearded and very paranoid Ham. "Phew, I thought she'd never leave."

A small crease appeared between Arnold's eyebrows as he stared down his only truly sensible son wearing a Santa Clause beard in bed. He blinked a couple times, tilted his head slightly to the left, and raised a very reluctant eyebrow, before finally finding the stamina to open his mouth. After a few more seconds, sound even came out, "Ham… normally I would let this go and not ask, but I really didn't expect this from—" A sigh tumbled out of his lips and he skipped straight to the point, sounding tired, "Why are you wearing a beard?"

Ham huffed in mild irritation, reaching a hand up to scratch around his lips. "It was Oskar's gift to me and Christmas is the only time I'll ever be able to wear it so I'm trying to enjoy it for as long as I can. I know it's stupid but I'm…" he pursed his lips, as if he wasn't entirely sure, "trying to make the best of it, I guess…"

"Oh." Arnold brightened, deeply pleased by this news. "I'm happy to hear that, Ham. Are you succeeding at all?"

Ham reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "No."

"You can always become a hobo if you want," Phil suggested, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Thank you, Phil. That's always been a dream of mine."

Their father's sleep-hazed chuckle caught the two boys attention, and they watched as he yawned and stretched himself back onto his old bed, hands stretching back to pillow his head. He whispered, just loud enough for them to hear, "Well, overall I'd say we had a good day today. Wouldn't you, boys?"

They both murmured their mutual agreement, and Arnold hummed his approval, his eyes already shut. Ham seemed to hesitate at the silence that came upon them. And then he asked, "Did you tell her?" At the continued silence, he elaborated, "On where you and her are spending your day out?"

Arnold opened his eyes and stared at the stars straight above him. Focusing on one in particular, he responded, "Not yet."

Ham blinked a couple times rapid fire, before squinting at him in the darkness. "'Not yet'? But… Dad, that was the entire point of your gift. Heck, that _was_ the gift."

Phil seemed to share his skepticism, as he decided to flatly state, "This is usually the place I'd interject with a sarcastic comment but my snark's been taken away so I'll just lay here in silent judgment."

"Did you just snark about being unable to snark?"

"Yes, and there's nothing you can do about it." He gave him a petulant look, before smashing his face back down into his pillow and pulling the blanket he'd thrown away over himself.

Arnold spoke before Ham could form a proper response, "Our anniversary's not for another month and a half. I've got plenty of time to tell her. Now's not the right time." He smiled then, thinking of the gift he truly meant to surprise her with, and closed his eyes in the total contentment of the thought. He may not be the most exciting dad, and he certainly wasn't the richest husband, but he always pulled through in the end. He didn't always know that, but he did at the moment, and the feeling was a source of liquid peace running down and settling somewhere inside his heart. Now hadn't been the right time to tell her but the time would come, and in the meantime he just wanted to savor his little secret.

Ham seemed to want to say more on the subject, but he couldn't come up with anything, so after a couple minutes of struggle he finally just fell back into his pillow and whispered, "Whatever you say, Dad."

Exactly one hour later, his wife yelled in his ear, "Hey Arnold, your daughter won't stop not touching me!"

And all was as it should be.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So, let's see, what do I want to say after this leviathan of a chapter... Well, for one, I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand, but let's face facts here. I have no control of any of this. I've been at the story's disposal for some time now. xD I am essentially it's b*tch.

I did go ahead and start some future plot points that I'll be needing... Lots of bombs for Phil are in here that are gonna be going off next chapter (AKA part one to Phil's _Shortman Secrets_ portion). And one in particular that's for Ham's. :) And I gave a proper introduction to Sophie at last. xDDD I swear, a lot of you guys have been all, "Sophie's no good for Zack!" and comparing her to Lila but I swear if you guys knew who her parents were you'd be staring at her in jaw-dropped shock and awe. XD I hope to tell her parents story someday, probably sometime after finishing my _Shortman Secrets_ arc. I have all sorts of inspiration for it... Like, seriously, it's eating my soul... Kinda like this entire story. u_u *Cries into emo jeans that I can't get off*

I know the entire point of this was to show Arnold's insecurity as a dad and how he overcomes that, and in order to do that I probably should have shown the gift-giving, but I think the fact that it didn't even need to get shown is a testament to how much Arnold really feels better after everything. As for his kids leaving one day... well, there's really no way to feel better about that. You just have to grin and bear it. xD Christmas really isn't about gifts anyway, and they raised their kids well enough to know that, so it's hardly consequential. The moral here: *Austen Powers voice* It's all about the love, ba-by. ;D ...And the jokes. All dem cheesy jokes. :B

NOW THEN :D

**Q - can we seriously ask questions?! Because I'd love to know why Arnold insists on including Pam in things when he knows Zack is uh... Less than comfortable. Is it still because he was caught being a pervvy peeping Tom? Or does he like the idea of Pam and Zack, y'know, together? :o**

**A - **Yes, you can certainly ask questions. To me or to the characters, whatever you guys are curious about, I'm more than happy to elaborate on. :) And well, Arnold's been Zack's father for sixteen years now... and I think he harbors a lot of guilt in that, to be honest. xDD Of course Arnold loves Zack, but he knows his son has a tendency to getting in trouble and hurting people without meaning to, so he often feels responsible, especially since Zack doesn't give two craps and denies everything. XD So it's definitely because of the Peeping Tom thing still. He's trying to make it up to her and, also in part, he just likes her. xD

As for what he thinks of her with Zack: Zack's ill temper around Pam really alarms him. He's not used to Angry!Zack, and it makes him worry a little bit. xD I do believe he has a secret part of himself that enjoys seeing HIM get riled up for once, though. So that _just_ _might_ be a contributing factor in all this, too... XD ;)

**Q - Is it bad that I got terrified of Arnold getting mad I mean HE COULD KARATE CHOP THE KIDS HEAD OFF jeez scary stuff ha**

**A - **I know this wasn't really meant as a question I should answer but... ROFLMBO bless you

And that's all, folks! :B Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion to ghdhhjGNLSNGKLSNHLS...

**_Blank screen_**

**_REVIEW!_**


	20. Breathing Slowly: Part 1

**A/N: **And so it begins. :D Getting along with Shortman Secrets, 'cause this year's gonna be extra busy for me so I wanna try to get this done relatively quickly. XD Don't get the wrong idea when I say that. This isn't going to be a short chapter... It'll actually probably be the longest one I write. o_0 Or at the very least as long as Zack's... but this time split up more appropriately. No more ridiculously long chapters for you guys. XD I AM SO SORRY FOR THAT, BTW, LOL. I JUST GOT IMPATIENT. But I won't be this time, I promise. ^_^

Got the outline complete, I know exactly where I'm going with it, what I want to get across... and this'll hopefully be well-written, 'cause I'm writing this with a "I could totes publish this and not die of shame" mindset. In other words, I'm gettin' SERIOUS. *Slides shades on and puts on tie* SO LET'S DO THIIIS *Tries to rip tie off and ends up strangling self*

**ONE HOSPITAL TRIP LATER**

*Wheezes* Now then, my lovely little kumquats... let's get this show on the road already before I kill myself! :B

**In order:**

**~Flawless Individuals~**

**metalheadrailfan**

**NerdilyNi**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**ShiningEmerald0**

**Onee-chan-05**

**Emily**

**Myriamj**

**HAFanForever**

**jamesbondfan2016**

**TheMish**

**Clarkieexsmiley**

**Panfla**

**HufflePufflin**

**Alyssa Turley**

**Lyssie7**

**Conor Dachisen**

Thank you guys so much for the support! With a fic like this, it is truly, deeply appreciated. You have no idea. XD If anyone's uncomfortable with being up there, let me know and I'll get you down. **Keep in mind** that if you don't want to be mentioned, you can always let me know.

And that's all she wrote!

**Disclaimer: **Zachary, Phillip, Joshua "Ham," and Amanda Faith Shortman all belong to me. Kori G. Johanssen belongs to** xxP00h67chu. **

_Revised on 3/26/2013. Note: why do I attempt things when I'm clearly doomed to failure?_

* * *

><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 1**

"_I need some peace of mind_

_No fear of what's behind_

_You think you've won this fight_

_You've only lost your mind!"_

—'_Had Enough__' by __**Breaking Benjamin**_

* * *

><p>It was a wet, dreary afternoon in Hillwood city as Phil made short work of the sidewalk, his steps stiff and staggering as he splashed through puddles and pushed past any pedestrians lingering by the streets. He didn't care to look back to see their reactions, and he didn't waste his time apologizing. Halfway to downtown from Vine Street, the buildings morphed from old and seemingly falling apart to tall and well-kept. They ranged from deep burgundies to light pastels; vivid pinks and golds, soft lavenders and all ranges of colors of the sky. The colors of happy people. People he didn't belong around.<p>

He kept his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, his head down and hidden beneath the shade of his cabbie. He moved unseeing, his thoughts jumbled and frantic as the wind robbed his cheeks of their color. He clenched his teeth.

It was too far away. He shouldn't have tried to walk it. Barely halfway there and already his lungs were betraying him. The rain was still thick in the air despite it having passed two hours ago, and the clouds drifting overhead gave a colorless, washed out look to even the cheeriest of buildings. It wasn't doing anything to help his mood, to say the least. But he couldn't control himself, couldn't breathe properly even when he was sitting still but fifteen minutes ago, and didn't once slow in his stilted jog. All he knew was that he needed to get away. He needed to put as much distance between himself and that _thing_ as possible. His legs were short, but his determination strong, and he knew he could make it. He just had to keep going. He could make it. He could. If only he could just stop _thinking_.

What Zack had done was low. Uncalled for. Wrong. Cruel. Cold. Harsh.

Dazed, he pulled a small thesaurus from his pocket and flipped through a few pages, bumping into people as he passed. _As, Ds, Hs, Is, Js, Ks, Ls_…

Eyes darting over the page, he searched for 'low,' no bit of his mind paid to the fact 'Love' was scribbled out with magic marker. Growling slightly at what he found, he ripped the page out and threw it to the wind, leafing impatiently back through to the Cs to find what he needed. Ah, yes, 'cruel'…

Atrocious. Barbarous. Bestial. Brutal. Depraved. Degenerate. Inhuman. Virulent. Monstrous. But most of all, _unbrotherly_.

How could he not have seen this coming? He had been so sure. He knew what he'd find out, he knew he'd laugh, but how could he have overlooked something so obvious? It came up enough. He had to bite his tongue at least once every couple weeks just to keep from blurting it out. And yet, he'd learned how to live with it so uneventfully, and it paled in comparison to… to what?

Feeling lost, he stuffed the wrinkled book back into his pocket and sucked in a sharp breath, only just catching himself before he slammed straight into a streetlight. He swerved around it at the last second, picking up pace, as if the thing would fly out of the concrete and chase after him. He was normally so focused. He missed nothing. He saw everything. He didn't overlook the obvious and he certainly didn't crash into _things_—

He slammed into a mailbox.

For Pete's sake, was he _malfunctioning_? He wheezed, falling away before stumbling around it and straightening himself. He paused, let out the slowest breath he could manage when his lungs were still screaming, and began down the street once more at a more measured pace. His lungs breathed a shaky sigh of relief with him, and he mentally regrouped. He just had to remember why he was out here, what his purpose was, and where he was heading. _Where he needed to go. _There was only one place that could fix this. Only one place that could make him feel even the slightest bit better about…

Tears pricked his eyes.

No. No, he didn't care. It hardly mattered anymore. What was out was out. There wasn't anything to be done about it now, and he knew he shouldn't have been so surprised. And he wasn't. No. What truly troubled him was the fact he didn't think he'd ever be able to get him back for this. The bar for revenge had been set by a giant, and he was too short to ever hope to reach it. Always too short. Too small. Too young. No one ever took him seriously and now they never would. How was he supposed to win against _this_? It wasn't even really blackmail, it was just vicious, and he knew Zack probably thought he was making a big deal out of nothing, but it _stung_. He couldn't possibly understand.

How long had he been trying to win against him now? How many years had he and Ham had this silent game set out in their heads to best the unbestable? Ham had always been enamored with the idea of winning, but not him. There had been a time Phil had thought him painfully stupid for trying to beat Zack, or really to even consider playing such a menial game anyway. No one could win against him, that had always been obvious, and he hadn't been all that interested in trying. He'd been younger back then, and ignorant; naïve; _stupid_. He missed those days desperately. They were simpler times back then, much easier than now. Now he found himself with a deep, soul-searing desire to ground his eldest sibling into the dust. And for all his sneakiness and sleuthing nature had afforded him, in his entire life he had only managed to catch Zack with his guard down once. Had only managed to single out one kink in his armor. The fact he was not only a big overconfident jerk, but also a stinking _hypocrite_.

Poetry… Poetry! He, who had always said poetry was stupid and girly! He, who had mocked _him_, for so much as thinking about reading it, was a poet himself. It was ludicrous how dishonest he'd proved himself to be. He'd always known he was a liar, but this...

He was the true hypocrite of the two of them. Not him. He'd done nothing. Nothing. Nothing. _Nothing._

A wind blew through suddenly and he shivered, whether just from the cold or his thoughts, he didn't know. But he was exhausted, and he couldn't remember how far he'd walked. The buildings all started bleeding together after a certain point, and his thoughts were spinning around in an endless circle that was starting to make him dizzy.

Stopping a moment to collect himself and look down at his pocket watch, he realized with some surprise that he'd been walking for… quite some time. Where was he exactly? Glancing rapidly around, he caught a street sign and breathed a sigh of relief. Bloom Avenue. He wasn't far now. He picked up his pace again, racing down the sidewalk, past sunny orange buildings and one red brick one that reminded him of the Sunset Arms. It hit him for just a moment how much he wanted his mom, but knew this was for the best. Crying to her would illicit demands of an explanation, and as unsecretive as he fancied himself, this was one situation he would gladly keep under his hat. One he _had_ to keep under his hat. He simply didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to _scream_ about it.

But he hated secrets, they never ended well—_hadn't this entire horrible mess reminded him of that?_—and he didn't care if he was proving everything Zack or his classmates had ever said about him to be factual all over again. If he was going to make it out of this without dying he had to make it—_there_.

773. Hillwood Medical Center.

Phil threw the doors open and skittered nervously inside, more than a little aware he was early for his appointment. Dr. Bliss was always very particular about what time of day she wanted him to show up. Something about how the afternoon was usually when he was the most at ease, and thus the easiest time for him to "discuss" his problems. He couldn't very well argue against that, so he'd shrugged and obligingly made his way at the desired time each week.

Today was a special case, though, and he knew she wouldn't be too surprised, especially not with the weather how it was. This wasn't the first time he'd showed up a little early out of anxiousness, or called her in the middle of the night because there was a thunder storm. Was that stupid? Yes. Did he care? No, not particularly, and neither did his nerves. Not a single one of them.

He wasn't just anxious today, though. Today he was more out of sorts than he'd been in a long time. Of course he knew he had always been known for his outbursts, but they always passed, and usually without much damage or cause for concern. Today he couldn't snap himself out of it, and if something didn't give soon, someone was going to get hurt. Namely a chair, or one of those irritatingly ornamental vases that served no purpose but to look ugly. The walls most _definitely_ weren't safe, he knew that much. Like Zack had so cleverly pointed out, he was a danger to himself and everyone around him. Inanimate or otherwise. He simply couldn't help himself. Lunatics never could.

He seethed a little at the thought, before shaking himself out of it.

He must really have made a spectacle of himself, because the couple other waiting kids looked at him with shock. He pointedly ignored them and hastily shuffled his way to the front desk.

"Phillip Shortman," he said mechanically, breathlessly, barely looking at the woman's face as he stared instead down the hall where he knew Dr. Bliss' office to be. His chest heaved, his damp disheveled hair nearly blocking his eyes from sight.

The receptionist merely smiled at him kindly – kind, everyone was always kind here – clicked a few keys, scrolled down a page, and nodded her head at him, unfazed. "Of course. Have a seat, Phil." Phil's legs moved purely out of muscle-memory to a chair across from where the other two were seated, and sank down numbly. His heart refused to stop racing even as he scolded it, and despite that he'd managed to reign in his thoughts to a mere murmur of their previous shout, he couldn't keep his emotions from roiling inside of him like an acidic sea.

With little else to do but wait, he felt himself starting to feel sick to his stomach. In an attempt to distract himself, he looked up at the other two across from him, who were staring at him unabashedly. He glared at them for it, but even still they stared, quite blatantly. Mentally rolling his eyes, he focused his look somewhere on the ceiling, and stared there for the remainder of the hour, focusing solely on keeping his breathing steady and not exploding. He didn't want to cause a scene. Not today, not when he felt so sure an outburst would result in little else but making him even more upset than he already was. He _would_ master himself. He wouldn't for anyone else or at any other time or place, but he would here.

Everyone here was always kind to him, no matter how foul his mood. He felt somehow ashamed of his initial behavior upon starting sessions here, but found he couldn't regret it, recalling the events preceding it. For the first couple months of his acquaintance with Dr. Bliss, he'd stubbornly refused to talk. Instead he'd napped, or took one of the many psychology books from her shelf to browse. Sometimes he quizzed her disdainfully, and other times he just stared out the window and enjoyed the sunlight. It was at his mother's insistence that he'd showed up each week, but it was for no other reason than to set her mind at ease that he went without complaint, and no matter how clever Bliss' attempts, he refused to speak. _She_ still spoke however. As a result he'd learned quite a bit from the kind and eternally understanding woman in that time.

On one day she'd confessed, in an attempt to reassure him, that despite his silence, she'd assessed already from his behavior that he was embarrassed to be there, that he felt it only confirmed people's suspicions that he was a veritable psycho (though she worded it differently, he knew what she meant), which was only part of it, but he hadn't told her that until later. At the time he was much too distracted with being insulted by her announcement—how presumptuous and conceited of her! To act as if she knew him based off air! Even if it were true, he'd been more offended than comforted at the time, before he'd had time to really think about it.

But the truly interesting part of the session had been when she'd told him moments after that though his actions were definitely cause for concern, they were nothing compared to those of his mother throughout her childhood, which had intrigued him and later horrified his mother. Dr. Bliss had merely been warmly amused, however, and given no specifics on that front.

No, according to her, he had his share of problems, but his mother's had been much worse, and if she could overcome hers, then he certainly could as well. She thought him a very mild case. Nothing more than slightly troubled, and for complications mainly afflicted by his personality. He'd inherited his father's sense of calm, composure and conscience, and his mother's passion, ridiculous temper, and sensitivity, or lack thereof—a union that was never meant to come together in one being. No matter how calm he outwardly appeared, it was rare there wasn't a storm brewing inside of him, strong and raring to escape at the first sign of irritation. He'd tried to suppress his emotions for years, and though at times he could with satisfaction declare himself utterly indifferent, there were some things in the world he simply couldn't not care about. Those were the things that sent his emotions roiling and rearing back like a snake, transforming the once listless boy into a quivering mass of either deep fury or profound sorrow.

Dr. Bliss said his strong feelings made him special.

He thought they just made him a freak.

A door was heard clicking from down the hall then, and Phil bounded immediately from his seat to the hall. He'd made it just in time to witness the woman and boy exchanging a hug, but he could hardly process something so trivial in his state. Upon seeing him, Dr. Bliss smiled her usual kind smile – kind, always kind, good people – and gestured for him to come inside.

Phil eagerly obliged.

No sooner had the door shut behind them that he'd thrown his jacket and hat off and gulped in a large breath of air, before turning to her with a wild expression and terrified conduct, no longer attempting to mask himself. At her look of question, he stated two words, and two words only.

"He knows."

* * *

><p><strong>Two Years in the Past<strong>

If there was one thing Phil did not like, it was feeling like time was passing him by too quickly.

His life had passed him by in an unseemly, five-second blur of pranks, corndogs and yelling. He could recall certain moments in perfect clarity if he focused hard enough or the subject was broached, but as a whole in his baser moments it was nothing but a colorful haze. A colorful haze he had no idea what to do with.

He remembered skinning his knee when he'd learned to ride at six and his mother quelling his cries with a smothering amount of kisses and band-aids, but most of it was only his to recall due to all the times his mom had told the story over dinner as an amusing anecdote. In reality the starkest of his remembrance was how blue the sky was when he'd found himself on his back, and the rough red and white of the brick when he'd turned his head. He didn't remember the upset, or the pain, or even his fall past the whoosh of air in his lungs before the actual event. None of what his mom seemed to find the most enjoyment out of describing. Just blue, blue, blue, and brick. Deep red rough brick.

Past that he could remember fishing with Grandpa Phil. He could remember a lot of terror involved in the episode, due to the fact he couldn't swim, and even more terror afterwards when his great-grandpa had accidentally tipped the boat in his enthusiasm of pointing out a fish and ended up dunking them both. Apparently, his grandpa had just laughed at his flailing and dragged him and his water wings back into the boat. Again, he remembered most of the event purely due to his grandfather's spirited retellings. And he did like to tell that story _a lot_.

He'd never expressed this concern with anyone. Not to his great-grandpa, not to Grandpa Bob, and not even to Zack. He didn't know how he would go about voicing his complaint even if he wanted to anyway. It was little more than a niggling discomfort welled deep in his stomach, and really the only reason it had surfaced was because his ninth birthday was coming up, as his mother had tearfully reminded him this morning.

Upon realizing it was only a month away, he'd felt the need to regroup and reassess his situation a bit, if only to calm himself down and stop hyperventilating. He'd spent ten minutes prior to now skidding around in the bathroom grasping at the toilet lid trying not to throw up, and that wouldn't do. It was dumb, over something so minor. He knew it was, so he'd stopped himself. After all, he prided himself on being the intelligent and sensible one of his siblings. Of course it was always him to reprimand them on their silly behavior—that time with the acclaimed "haunted house" next door; all those absurd food fights that had gone on in the household; the impromptu sessions of hide and seek that never seemed to end well; that time Josh had formed a crush on two different girls at one time. Phil didn't know anything about love, but he knew very well morally that it was unheard of to nurture feelings for more than one person. What kind of a buffoon would ever do such a thing? It simply wasn't right.

And Phil so prided himself on his strong sense of wrong and right. He found himself often at a loss whenever anyone else demonstrated any action breaching the obvious line between the two—clearly something was wrong with their head, and Phil was more than happy to correct them on their blunder.

This was perhaps partly why he didn't say anything about his doubts. They were unreasonable feelings to have, and not ones he was going to encourage. Time simply had to pass, and that was that. His main worry, though – he had to admit – was if one day this day now, and the day after that, and after that as well, would be nothing but a fog; thick and choking and all but impossible to sift through. If one day all he would remember was pointless, inane things, like the color of the couch or the odd movement of a hand as it passed through the air, rather than the actual events, the things that would truly _mean_ something one day. But it didn't matter. None of that did. Time had to pass, and that was that.

Nine years old.

He was going to be nine. Even though he still wasn't used to being eight. Time was rather _rude_, wasn't it? It was like that annoying kid who latched himself onto you on a field trip, sneaking up on you unannounced and dragging you around even though you weren't done looking at the 200-year-old turtle. It didn't care how you felt about it, or if you were ready—because it wanted to see the clownfish, even though they were _stupid_.

Sniffing in distaste, he threw the remote he'd been holding for comfort over on the other side of the couch and pouted, grabbing his knees to his chest. He didn't even know why he humored the thought for a millisecond. It wasn't like it did anything. He glared at the green fabric of the couch by his socked feet. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The point was making himself feel better, not to stir up the confusing emotions even more than they already were. He huffed, childishly frustrated and even more frustrated at himself for being so over something so trivial.

He didn't have much longer to think on the matter, as an eleven-year-old Josh decided now would be a good time to come jogging into the room. With wilting flaxen-colored cowlicks and a lean body spread evenly with tan from years of outdoor activities, he certainly looked the part of the ignoramus jock older brother, which was exactly how Phil saw him. He regarded him warily over the back of the couch. The boy was normally very calm and kept to himself until opportunity presented itself to over exude, but that was just it—an opportunity had arisen. Phil could practically smell it in the air around him, like that ever-present scent of sweat and earth that seemed forever hopelessly clinging to him. As it were, whenever sports came up of any kind, he would suddenly get very enthusiastic, which Phil didn't like one bit. It often meant bad, very stupid things were about to happen.

Thus was why when he came bounding over to stand behind the couch, Phil nearly threw himself back off of his perch to get away from him. Josh played the back of the couch like a drum before throwing himself down to rest his head in his arms with twinkly, contented eyes, like he had some secret he took great pleasure in not revealing. Maybe it was that Victoria's secret thing he kept seeing everywhere, or he finally managed to get the high score on _Prison Break_. He really didn't know, nor did he want to, so he resolved himself not to think anymore about it. He sucked in a jittery breath.

"Hey, Phil," the elder boy spoke simply, smiling, "Wrestlemania in fifteen. You excited?" He grinned.

Phil issued him one of his standard agitated looks and scoffed. Hugging his knees closer, he informed him, "Wrestling's just a bunch of staged hogwash, Josh. It's not _real_ violence. I'll pass, thanks." He held his chin high. It was true after all; it wasn't real—mostly just grown, glistening men in tight-fitted diapers circling each other and jumping around for show. No, now if he wanted true entertainment all he had to do was toss a tube of lip-gloss amongst the girls at school and watch them battle to the death in the middle of the classroom. Now _that_ was fun to watch.

Josh raised an eyebrow, before his shoulders bounced in a careless shrug as he straightened himself. Walking around the couch to claim the chair beside it, he felt obligated to warn, "Better not let Grandpa Bob or Phil hear you say that. Their heads'll probably explode."

Phil frowned, watching disquietly as Josh sank back into the chair and twisted his Yahoo open. The signature _ssspst_ that assaulted his ears made him suddenly thirsty, and after his first swallow Josh seemed to notice and offered him some. Phil shook his head, retreating in on himself. Josh just arched an eyebrow again, as he seemed to like doing around him, before wrapping both hands around the bottle and resting it on his lap. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but before anything more could be voiced, they were interrupted.

The room cracked very suddenly in two with the arrival of their eldest and loudest brother, aged fourteen, who swaggered in and announced himself with joking enthusiasm, "Fret no more, your king has arrived! Hold your applause, please."

Josh gave a quick eye roll and snorted his response, "As if."

Zack sent a rakish look at him for the reaction, his sandy hair draping down over his unibrow in loose strands. With hopelessly unruly hair and an even more hopelessly unruly personality, Zack made quite the presence in the room, demanding attention with little more than his existence. He radiated confidence and charm, and Phil doubted anyone could successfully ignore Zack for very long, if at all. He was no exception. "Jealous, dear brother?" the entity asked with barely concealed amusement.

"Not at all." Josh smiled, his features smooth. "You come in here for Wrestlemania?" he asked just as casually, already well aware of the answer.

As anticipated, Zack snorted, and traipsed over to smooth his hair down in the reflection of the TV. "It's all just staged, Josh, you know that. Who wants to watch idiots trying to bash each other's brains in anyway? It's barbaric… Of course I know you're into that sort of thing, though, so I'll stop talking." Phil threw a smug look at Josh, to which he gave a faint smirk and sipped his drink. Mockingly, Zack dismissed the topic with a _hmph_, and turned his head around to bestow them with a smirk. "'Sides, I have a date tonight."

Josh and Phil both shared a look, before they looked back to him with tightened lips. Josh sighed, tapping his fingers against his bottle. "Who is it this time?"

Zack turned around to face the two and put a hand to his chest with eyes wide and mouth agape. They both gave him a dry look, and he dropped the act with a barely suppressed laugh. "Fine, fine. New girl at school. I got assigned to show her around the school, show her the ropes and all, you know… and boy did I hit the jackpot." Leaning over with his hands resting on the coffee table, he divided his look between his two brothers with white teeth and gleaming blue eyes. "This one's a babe. Fourteen and already the most attractive specimen I've ever laid my eyes on. She ate up all the usual material, too. Fell into me like the floors were made of butter." Straightening himself, he turned back around to look at himself and pressed his shirt free of wrinkles with a hand. "Typical girl. Tonight'll be a cinch."

"We're still getting corn dogs, though, right?" Phil asked, leaning over slightly to try to meet his eyes in the reflection.

Zack spun around and smiled past him with an easy grace, his mind already miles away. He walked by the couch and gave a quick pat to Phil's shoulder, trying to reassure him with the touch even as it just made Phil uncomfortable, as Zack should've known it would. Not that it ever stopped him, but Phil simply didn't like being touched. He didn't know why, really. Maybe after years of having affection showered on him by his overzealous mother he'd finally reached his limit, or he simply didn't like that it was so easy for people to breach his territorial bubble without his consent, but whatever the cause it was a well known fact amongst the family that he didn't like touching. That is, unless he was the one to initiate it, but he rarely ever did _that_. He had no reason to.

As he tensed and felt discomfort curl in his stomach, Zack continued to pat his shoulder and spoke brightly, "Every Sunday evening without fail. How could you ever doubt me, baby brother?" A grin took hold of his face then as his watch beeped, and he eagerly strutted out of the room, flittering his hand back at them in farewell. "Don't wait up, peasants!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Josh murmured as he stared in the direction he had departed, and heard the front door swing shut. He turned his eyes back to Phil's with a growing smile, appearing almost mischievous even as Phil was sure he didn't know the meaning of the word. "You have to feel bad for the girl. She doesn't know who she's dealing with."

"Psht," Phil flicked his eyes to the ceiling, leaning back into the comfort of the couch with arms crossed snugly across his chest. "Who cares? It's just a girl."

"Better watch your tongue, Phil," a third, female voice intervened, before Kori G. Johanssen walked into the room and made her way over to stand beside Josh's seat. Phil and Kori had a very special kind of relationship—not quite hate, but certainly not like, and it was all in her face as she regarded him, eyes shifting over him coolly. "Girls might get mad."

Phil couldn't quite control the smirk that spread slyly across his face. "I'd say sorry if I could be sincere."

Kori pursed her lips and averted her eyes, clearly displeased with this answer. He didn't know what she'd expected. It had only been a week before that they'd been caught in an argument over boys' clear superiority over girls in paper football, and obviously he was on the boys' side. What made her think he'd have changed his opinion since then? Of course he knew girls had worth of some sort, but he couldn't see much past the pretty hair and strange obsession with dolls.

Kori fancied herself superior to most, he thought, though she'd deny it, but he knew the truth about her. Past the skirts and burettes and girly goggles, she was just a boy herself, timid and bookish though she may be at times. It showed in her enthusiasm for roller coasters, her fascination with bugs and wildlife, and her clear enjoyment of spooky stories and legends, not to mention her longstanding friendship with the most boyishly sport-obsessed person around. As far as Phil was concerned, she didn't count as a girl. She was a rare form of girl-boy, and until the time came that he found a truly frilly, pink, inarguably XX-chromosomed female that showed signs of having actual brain activity, he wasn't going to hold his breath.

Josh cast a knowing smile at Kori as she glared at the floor, before turning his gaze back onto him. "You know, Phil," he helped Kori's point, his eyes flicking somewhere behind him a split-second before a smirk melted over his face, "if it weren't for a girl, you wouldn't even be here. You should try to show a little more respect."

Phil stared at him wide-eyed a long moment, before bursting into laughter. He exclaimed, his eyes tearing up, "Mom's not a girl!"

And just like that, he was being smacked upside the head, and his laughter immediately morphed into a yelp. Helga came up to stand beside him, giving him a severe look that was more of a tease. Phil glared at her all the same, though mildly, as he annoyingly had difficulty staying mad with her. The moment was short-lived, in any case, as nearly every other resident of the boarding house came crowding into the room in anticipation of the impending wrestling match. Or at least every male boarding house member, save Helga, which was only further confirmation to Phil that she was, indeed, not a girl. A boy posing as a girl, maybe, which made Phil wonder not for the first time why his father had married her as he watched the two of them fall into the couch beside him and cuddle in together. Secretly, he thought his dad might be a little homosexual, though he would never voice this thought. He didn't need another slap upside the head from his mom, thank you.

But really, the man sewed, tailored, sang, acted, adored poetry, classical music and jazz, plays, opera, symphony, horses, was a hopeless romantic, and had been doing his own laundry since he was seven-years-old. By all accounts, he shouldn't even _be_ a man. He supposed it made sense that he would marry an acclaimed author and poet, as his mom had often said that he was cultured and that was one of the many reasons they were perfect for one another, but Phil still didn't see it. Past the poetry and occasional Shakespearean play, his mom was one of the most uncultured, boorish women he'd ever known.

When he was younger, he'd thought it was normal for the father to suggest they go to the opera and the mother to laugh and say they couldn't 'cause football was coming on. He'd thought nothing of it when he caught his mom having a drunken burping competition with three other men and his father rubbing his forehead in exasperation. He hadn't batted an eye any of the times he walked in on his mom flipping through the action movie channels laughing at someone getting their head blown off as his father sipped tea and reread Charles Dickens. But then of course, his mother had her overly romantic, fanciful moments, and his dad loved all the normal "boy" things—so, really, _both_ of them were odd girl-boy, boy-girl hybrid things. Maybe that was why they were perfect for each other?

Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to question the entire reason he _existed_. Or at least, not too much. He couldn't deny it baffled him, even as it had always been normal for him to see the two of them exchanging loving glances and kisses. Since after his first day at school he'd gotten a big wake-up call to what was actually the proverbial norm for boys and girls, and had been paralyzed with horror. He'd struggled for months to get out of his habits of listening to jazz, Chopin and reading poetry. For Pete's sake, he'd been trying to read Jane Austen when he was _five_, utterly ignorant of the fact it was a _romance novel_ and most certainly not for boys. He blamed his dad for that, for not being a better example. His Grandpa Bob was a better example. Heck, even Grandpa Phil was a better example, and he spent most of his days sitting in the bathroom reading girly magazines. He'd worked _hard_ to fit back in and be a real boy, and still nobody liked him. How could they be so blatantly, disgustingly different and not care?

Keeping his arms crossed over his chest, he scowled when he was rudely called out of his thoughts by his dad reaching over to affectionately ruffle his hair. "Why the perturbed look, Phil?" his dad asked, amused.

He ignored his question to straighten his hair back out and scold, as if he were the father, "You know I hate that."

Arnold just smirked, and Helga joined in shortly after. Phil's head dropped into a pout, and it wasn't long before he heard Grandpa laugh.

"Come on, come on," Ernie said anxiously, scooting tightly into the couch between Phil and Arnold. "It's gonna be starting any second now!"

"Hold your horses," Grandpa shushed him, sinking slowly back into the recliner across from Josh and cringing as he heard a few bones crackle and snap, like a bowl of cereal. He gave a long sigh of relief when he made it mostly unbroken into the chair, and relaxed into the cushions. "We've still got a few minutes. Where's the clicker?"

"Uh," Helga started, awkwardly, "I think I'm sitting on it." Pushing Arnold's arm away so she could sit up, she grimacingly pulled the remote out from under the cushions and, in effect, her butt, holding it up as if she'd performed some kind of magic trick. "Got it!" She grinned at her success and tossed it over.

Grandpa caught the remote and in the same motion pressed Power. The TV flickered to life just as a commercial for tampons came on with dancing, skipping women in white, and Grandpa instantly muted it and turned his attention back to Arnold and Helga.

"So," Grandpa said a little too brightly, a grin splitting his ancient face, "how long are you staying?"

Arnold and Helga looked to each other instinctively, but before they could answer Gertie burst in from the kitchen with cymbals bashing and gaily declared, "Forever!"

Arnold and Helga's eyes shot fully open. "No," they both shouted on impulse, practically flying out of their seats, before realizing what they'd just done and forcing themselves to relax.

"I mean," Helga swiftly began, sharing an anxious look with her husband, "we really appreciate you guys putting up with us but we really can't stay too long…"

"You're the best," Arnold warmly added, sincerely. "We couldn't do this terrible toddler thing without you. Amanda's been driving us crazy and it's really good of you to help out."

"Ohh," Grandpa waved them off, "not another word out of you, Short Man. You know we miss ya! Any time staying with us is more of a gift to us than it is to you." Both Arnold and Helga looked down guiltily, and Grandpa gave them a sly eye. "Of course, we wouldn't want to keep ya too long. We know how you value your privacy."

"It's not that," Arnold was quick to correct, before he stopped himself and clamped his mouth closed. No, that wasn't entirely true. They did love their privacy. But… "Helga just needs as much quiet as she can get for her career and it's already so cramped here. I mean, there are plenty of bedrooms, of course, but so few bathrooms, one kitchen…" He exchanged a troubled look with Helga.

Helga just sighed. "We've had this conversation before, Phil. You know why we had to move out. But that doesn't mean we don't love you guys or anything—"

Grandpa quieted them both with a cackle. "Oh, hush! I was just teasing you! For Pete's sake, I make one comment and you two go off listing every consolation in the book." He threw his arms up in the air in a burst of skeptical amusement. "You started a family! You were getting jobs! Of course you had to move out! We don't begrudge you the obvious—we may be old, but we're not dim." He grinned then, wide and sprightly. "So long as I get to see my favorite great-grandson at least once a week, I'm good."

Both Phil and Josh exchanged a look at this, silently trying to figure out who the favorite was. Phil stopped short the next second, and his eyes narrowed at Josh's even considering for a second he was the favorite.

Grandpa cackled again at the sight and slapped his knees, snapping them out of their staring competition. "Oh, you're all too easy to mess with! Enough, enough." With a chuckle and a tear wiped from his eye, he leaned forward to cup his hands together between his knees, smiling more sensibly at his grandson and granddaughter-in-law. "You have to stay for a month, at least. Considering Philly's birthday coming up, it's the only amount of time that makes sense. How does that sound?"

Phil's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to respond, when Ernie interrupted them, "Yeah, yeah, it sounds swell, Gramps, now unmute already, it's on!"

"Oh!" Grandpa leaned speedily back and clicked the volume back on high, just in time for the bell to ring and Helga, Josh and Ernie to start hollering. Arnold just sat back and chuckled, twisting his Yahoo open and taking a swig. Phil bit the side of his mouth, before leaning behind where Ernie sat perched to poke his dad in the arm. Arnold blinked and looked over at him, his smile widening. "Yeah, Phil?"

"We _have_ to stay, Dad," he whispered imploringly, thinking about how little time there'd be for thinking with so many people around. And his birthday, well, that went without saying.

Arnold cracked up at the pleading note in his eyes, his laugh light and nearly silent before his countenance melted back into an easy smile. "Sure, Phil. A month's not a problem." Thinking back on Amanda's screaming ways and newfound passion for hide n' seek, he leaned back into his seat and turned freshly blank eyes back to the television, muttering, "God knows we need all the help we can get."

Phil visibly relaxed at his father's acceptance and leaned back, just in the knick of time as Ernie threw himself back and yelled, "Ah, come on!"

Phil's lip curled as his mind began to register all the hooting and obnoxious energy in the room, and jumped down from the couch to slip away as quietly as possible, backing carefully away. As soon as he was in the kitchen, he breathed a sigh of relief, and fell back against the wall. He wasn't the greatest when it came to being around so many strong personalities in one house, but if they kept him distracted, then he was glad for it. Besides, his birthday party was going to be held here in a month anyway. It was always a family affair for him, just as he liked it; quiet and private. No one got in and no one got out. No trespassers or unwelcome strangers. So of course staying here was the only logical thing to do.

It would be a little like a vacation. The local girls would keep Zack busy most of the time, Josh had Kori within walking distance for a change, there were plenty of adults to take care of Amanda, his grandparents would be occupied with his parents, and though it would still be loud and alive and blissfully keeping his mind from drifting to places that were beneath him, all that still left him with lots of free time to roam the house and explore, which was long overdue. He didn't know this house anywhere near as well as Zack did, and he was supposed to inherit it one day, for gosh sakes. He should… check out the plumbing, or something.

Zack knew the entire house like the back of his hand, since he'd lived here for a short time as a kid. He'd enjoyed getting lost in the ridiculously large house, especially since he had a fascination with building and fixing—but mostly taking apart, much to their parents distress. He knew every pipe, every leak, every screw, nut and bolt. He knew how many stairs there were and the exact number of rooms; which ones had windows and which ones didn't, how many times you had to hit the washing machine to get it to go, which closets had secret passageways and which ones just housed old sweatshirts. Phil didn't even know if the floors were maple or oak.

He only ever got to come over on weekends, and most of that time was spent being dragged around town by his grandparents. He hardly ever had time to breathe, let alone check the place out like he knew he should. Maybe now with so much time here he'd get to look around finally, see what he was in for. With this thought in mind, he glanced around the kitchen for a few minutes, but then became bored and his thoughts drifted off.

After another minute or so, he realized his eyes were resting on the refrigerator and he became painfully aware again of just how thirsty he was. Smacking his lips, he wandered over to the refrigerator and opened it wide, wincing slightly as the cold air blasted him in the face, before his eyes widened. Well, crap.

The entire thing was completely infested with Yahoo soda. Diet, cherry, regular, extra fizz, no fizz, blueberry, raspberry… He snarled at the last one.

He didn't even like soda that much. It was too strong, too sugary, and it always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Nonetheless, desperate times called for desperate measures, and he grabbed a regular out and popped it open, taking a tentative sip. He sighed the moment it hit his tongue, wondering why he was surprised. Maybe if he added water—

There was a knocking at the door.

Phil jumped at this, startled, but it passed quickly enough. It was probably just the mailman or something. Someone ordered a package. People did that at boarding houses, right? He pursed his lips, barely knowing what to think and not much caring as he walked into the hall and swung the door open. The second his eyes met with those of the creature on his doorstep, he stiffened.

As far as he knew, mailmen didn't wear green. Or kilts.

Harsh footsteps sounded from behind him, and it was only once they were right behind him that he finally registered he was in trouble. The door was grabbed roughly away from his hand by his mother as she hissed down at him, "Phillip Shortman! You can't just go answering doors without supervision!" Phil looked up at her with a dry stare and turned to wander calmly back up the hall.

Helga huffed at his behavior, running a hand through her messy hair in agitation as she looked down at the young, blonde and clearly very disturbed Campfire Lass on their doorstep. She glowered down at her, casting a dark shadow over her trembling form. "We don't want any of your damn cookies." And with that, she slammed the door shut, the last and only sound coming from the girl being a high-pitched squeak.

Phil just continued to wander up the hall, no destination in mind other than away. He took another sip of his drink out of boredom. It was still inadequate, of course.

Everything was inadequate.

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><p><strong>AN: **First part complete. Second pending. It's got Zaaaaaack. :3 REVIEW IF YOU WANT IT. They motivate me to keep going. And to not die. xD I would've just put the Zack part here but it was getting too long which would've meant this would've been WAAAAAY too long. XD And like I said, I'm gonna be keeping these chapter parts as short as I can. :I

OH, funny thing: The abbreviation of Phil's chapter name is "BS." XD ROFLMBO IT'S SO PERFECT I CAN'T GET OVER IT.

Love you guys! :3 And I'm super excited to tell this story! I hope you all enjoy what I've got in store. :D

**_REVIEW!_**


	21. Breathing Slowly: Part 2

**A/N: **I HAVE WRITTEN A THING.

Yeah, part two. :p Isn't it marvelous? No? I know. ._. But I'm glad to be moving this along anyway. XD A lot of juiciness is on the horizon, mein freunds. I'm pretty sure it's Snapple. :D The cover has changed in accordance with it's current focus as well. The picture in the cover was drawn by **FnFiNdOART**. All credit goes to her... Hope she don't mind I'm jacking her art. XD

No song for this chap. I couldn't figure out what to put. D: Sorry to anyone who gives a crap. I actually did have one in mind for this, but listening to it and thinking about this, it just seemed a bit too cheesy. XD And I really don't want to go there just yet, LOL.

NOW THEN

**~Y U SO AWESOME People~**

**metalheadrailfan**

**Conor Dachisen**

**Jamesbondfan2016**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**Anonymous Latina**

**ThisLoveThisHate14**

Thanks for the support, guys! Especially you, Latina. I know you're not on this chapter yet (and I'm still kinda doubting you'll make it this far before you stop LOL), but just in case you do: HIIIIIII :D CONGRATULATIONS. YOU JUST READ A LOAD OF CRAP. XD Here's your prize! *Hands you a pony that fits in your palm* Enjoy! But be careful. He's really easily crushed. *Coughs*

Conor Dachisen, as well! Thanks for the fresh support. It's great to get new readers in here. :) Welcome aboard! The snack bar is to your right and the bathroom to your left. As for the exit—there isn't one! :D Enjoy the ride, me hearty.

Now let's get this show rolling already. I'm starving to death over here. XD

**EDIT:** Reposted 'cause I added more. XD *Slaps forehead* I am weak, I know, LOL. But honestly, it felt like it was missing something and I realized what that thing was a day or two ago and was slapping my forehead over it. You don't have to review again if you already did, haha. I'm just making myself feel better. If you want to follow the storyline, be sure to catch the added bit. I ALSO FIGURED OUT A SONG :D WHOOOOO, it's by All Time Low, though. XD ALL. TIME. LOW. LOL. How appropriate. Okay, moving on. u_u

**Disclaimer: **By this point you should already know, but just in case: I OWN ALLLL THIS SHIZ. Except the parts I don't. ._. Pam belongs just as much to** Panfla **as she does to me. And Taro Johanssen belongs to** metalheadrailfan**. The insult "Carpet Forehead" came from an old convo with **Panfla**, and "Midgie" was **Isabella Pataki**'s amazing idea, so credit goes where credit is due! XD And that is all. For now.

**Dedication: **I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT THIS LAST CHAP. Omg. **Very, very important**: this entire chapter is dedicated to** writergirl97**, since she is (or used to be?) in love with Phil. She was one of the first people to tell me she loved my characters, has written quite a few awesome fics for these guys, drawn a ton of pictures, and was one of the evil masterminds behind giving this fic it's own group on dA. She is truly one of my favorite people on the internet, so whether she reads this or not, I want it to be known that this is for her. End transmission.

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><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 2**

"_I wanna be good good good to you_

_But that's not not not your type_

_So I'm gonna be bad _

_For you."_

— '_Bad Enough For You__' by __**All Time Low**_

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><p><strong><em>Two years later, a week from present<em>**

Zack was having a lovely dream. Sophie was there, as she often was, and the pungently sweet smell of cherries wafted in the breeze. Through the hazy blur of his subconscious, he saw flashes of blue and white that he assumed must be the sky. There were violets all around, a red airplane flew overhead. And oddly, his dad with a butterfly net and a particularly wide-brimmed explorer hat—but he wasn't going to analyze _that_ too closely.

It was peaceful, and calm, and though he wouldn't remember a lick of it upon waking, the pleasant feeling would stick with him for the better part of the day.

The split-second conclusion of his dream would be blissfully forgotten in light of the peace. The violets shriveling up would be banished from his mind. The plane crashing would be nothing but a foggy recollection that he would attribute to too much TV. and the blue and white flashing to a vivid, haunting red would never be his to recall. The cherries would stay, though. And the grass would remain a light, emerald green. And he would still be nothing but a drooling mess crouched over his desk in the middle of English class who was startled awake by the sound of a gunshot that came directly in front of his face.

Ms. Idleberry continued calmly down the line of desks, as if she hadn't just slammed her ruler down on his desk, and he hadn't just flown up from his desk and coughed out a splutter of nonsensical exclamations. He cringed deeply and shuddered, trying to take reign of his hazed mind and banish the dark fog surrounding his eyes. Everyone in the room burst into a round of snickers, particularly the girl seated behind him, and he shot a look at them all that they knew not to take serious.

Ms. Idleberry didn't once pause in her speech, "It's important as young adults for you to learn responsibility, to take charge, and to be able to adapt to new situations that may not always be ideal. You should know how to compromise and come to important decisions within a partnership." Turning sharply around to continue down the next row and eying a couple teenagers that were still shaking with silent laughter, she continued, barely veiled censure under her tone, "That's why I'm assigning you all partners for this assignment. You'll be hypothetically 'married' to this person for the next week, and I'll be expecting a full project and written paper on your experience and what you learned."

Everyone groaned in unison and Ms. Idleberry raised her ruler high, waving it back and forth. "Now, now, none of that!"

"I can already tell you what I'll learn," Billy Green, better known as Booger Boy, stated slyly, leaning lazily back in his chair. "That no woman can handle _this_." He did a small dance in his seat, before stopping abruptly to look seriously, too seriously, at Ms. Berry. "And love is actually just overactive hormones sending, like, endorphins and stuff to different parts of your body and making them act funny. Chocolate has some of those in it, actually, so when you eat it, you're actually eating love." He swept his scraggly black hair back, sniffing as his brown eyes became glassy a moment.

"How interesting," Reuben muttered wryly, sitting to his left.

Billy gave him a bright red-eyed look, tapping his hands against his desk. "Thanks. I learned it in Science class."

Ms. Idleberry looked down on him patiently, her expression that of one who had a long history of dealing with teenagers. "Thank you for sharing, Mr. Green."

Billy sneezed in response.

Riley Gammelthorpe raised her hand gracefully in the air suddenly, keeping it straight up in the air like a lightning rod. "Ms. Berry, ma'am," she called in a crystalline, singsong voice. At Ms. Idleberry's nod, she let her hand fall to her desk and asked demurely, "Does our partner have to be in this class specifically, or can we pick someone outside of it?"

Ms. Idleberry smiled thinly. "I'll be assigning them myself. You don't get to choose."

Riley gave her a blank look and blinked a couple times, incapable of processing this. Reuben coughed and asked directly after, looking at the teacher disapprovingly, "And why exactly can't we? What would be the harm?"

Ms. Idleberry paused at this, and stopped midstep from where she'd begun walking back down the rows again. Looking over to Reuben, she replied without missing a beat, "The entire point of the project is to throw you into a situation you would not expect to find yourself, and learn to adapt and make the best of it—if you chose your own partners, it would defeat the purpose."

Reuben's eternally straight and regal posture sagged slightly under this reasoning, clearly disappointed he couldn't argue further on the subject.

"So essentially," Zack yawned, stretching lazily back into his seat with a slight twitch of his lips, "we all got drunk in Vegas and woke up with wedding bands tattooed to our fingers."

Ms. Idleberry grinned, as well as several other snickering students. "Precisely."

"I don't see the point of this assignment," Zack went on almost absentmindedly, his eyes drifting over to focus on a wall. "Or what exactly it has to do with English."

Ms. Idleberry's delighted face fell into a very rueful expression, and she started walking again at a much slower pace, weighed down by the private irony of her thoughts. "Oh, trust me, this is a lesson you're going to want to learn early on. If you ask me, learning how to navigate a marriage should be a class in and of itself." Pam buried her face in her hands to hide her reddening face, mentally groaning.

"I would never go to Vegas," a brown-haired girl quibbled to her left, her chin resting on her desk in a very forlorn manner. Pam snorted out of her embarrassed stupor and nodded her agreement.

Ms. Idleberry, having made it back to her typical position at the front of the room, sifted through a few papers on her desk as she spoke, with a quick glance towards the clock, "We have exactly ten minutes before I have to release you to lunch, so I'll just assign you all now and you can get started right away. Remember to be with your partner as much as possible. You're to spend every day with them for the next week." Extracting a yellow slip of paper out from under several others, she held it up and paused for a long moment, before announcing, "Leon Eardley will be working with Riley Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd." The freckled dirt blond teen sent a large, crooked grin over to Riley, one of which she did not return and Reuben glared very hard at him for. He sent a silent warning to the boy with his eyes, making an 'I'm watching you' hand gesture. Leon sent him a slightly confused expression.

Ms. Idleberry went on unaware of this exchange, and caught Reuben's unwilling ear, "Reuben Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd will be working with Harmony Goldstone."

A hand was instantly in the air. Harmony, a pristinely made up blonde in navy blue uniform, did not wait to be called on before she spoke, "Excuse me, Miss, but it's _God_stone, not Goldstone."

Ms. Idleberry pursed her lips at this and looked closer to her paper. "Ah… so it is. There was a smudge there. I'm sorry, Harmony."

"No harm done, I suppose," she replied breezily, shooting her eyes over to Reuben, who was currently doing his best to hide his discomposure, and the sudden overwhelming urge he had to bribe his teacher with a hundred dollar reward if she assigned him a different partner.

It went on in this manner for the next couple minutes, only to be interrupted every once in a while with a groan or the banging of foreheads on desks, before she made it to Zack and spoke a little louder, caressing his name like the treasure she knew it to be, "Zachary Shortman will be working with…" there was an awkward pause, "Pamella." She coughed and hid her face behind the paper, speaking quietly, "I'm sorry, I can't seem to read my own handwriting here."

"Mo—" Pam started to yell, but then caught herself. "Ms. Idleberry, could I maybe get a different partner? Please?"

"Nonsense," she dismissed, waving a hand at her without even glancing in her direction. "You two are neighbors aren't you? It's an ideal match."

"Easy for you to say," Pam grumbled, sinking back in her seat. Fake friends or not, she hadn't signed up for this—she knew her mom was well aware of her dislike for Zack… as well as her brief admiration of him after reading his work, but that hadn't lasted long and she _knew_ that. This reeked of Meddlesome Mom.

Zack didn't appear at all fazed, however. He just cast a smug look over his shoulder at her, and she felt her ears go red. He'd caught that too. Great. Just what she needed, to pretend to be married to an overtly domineering, power-crazed egomaniac. Pam closed her eyes and counted to ten.

Ms. Idleberry folded her paper up and tucked it into a drawer. "It seems we have an unequal amount of boys and girls, so Mr. Green and Mr. Fuller will have to make do together."

"Oh, come on," Billy whined, shooting up from his desk.

Ms. Idleberry looked at him innocently. "What's the matter, Mr. Green? You said yourself no woman could handle you. Maybe Radcliff can."

Billy looked at her with mouth agape, dumbfounded, and slowly turned his head to look at Radcliff Fuller, AKA the simultaneously smartest and dumbest kid in the entire school. He received excellent marks on his report card, but when it came to social skills and common sense, he was impossible. In Billy's eyes, he equaled a failing grade and endless days of frustration. He also wasn't a perky brunette in a mini skirt. Radcliff stared at him with a spooked mien, and Billy fell back into his chair with a groan, "_Suicide_."

"So eat some chocolate," Zack quipped with a grin. Everyone tittered their approval of this plan, but Billy just sniffed and blew his nose into a page of his text book, his eyes shot through.

After a minute's worth of snickering and whispered jokes, Ms. Idleberry had finally had enough and raised her hands up to quiet them. "Yes, yes, it's very funny. Laugh about it on your own time, at lunch. Which would be…" she glanced down at her watch, just in time for the bell to scream that it was time to leave. Zack was the first one up and grabbing for his bag to depart, but Pam reached over to grab him by the arm before he could escape.

"Not so fast, Sassy. I'm done with chasing your ass down. You're coming with me." Throwing her backpack over her shoulder, she stood up and pulled his smirking self out into the hallway. There was already a crowd of kids jogging this way and that, but Pam didn't hesitate to drag him right into the heart of the storm and out the other end. Zack, for his part, didn't protest. Pam knew she should probably be a little suspicious of his lack of reluctance, but was too determined to get as far away from her mother as she could to care for the moment.

Finally feeling satisfied with their distance, she let go of him and leaned her forehead against the wall. Breathing heavily, she nearly missed the muffled laughter coming from behind her. Just as she was steeling herself for the worst, the laughter spiked and next thing she knew Zack was leaning against the wall to her left shaking with laughter.

Affronted, she pushed away from the wall and yelled, "How can you laugh at this?"

"Easy," he chortled, turning around to face her, his back still leaned against the wall. His eyes were sparkling, a huge grin was plastered across his face, and somehow his hair looked even wilder than usual. Pam felt herself instinctively lean away. "I'm so sexy even your mom's trying to set us up." He cackled, losing it all over again. "Oh, criminy, it's too good!"

Pam's eyes narrowed. She watched him laugh obnoxiously for a few more seconds, waiting for him to get it out of his system, but when he didn't do it fast enough for her taste, she rolled her eyes and yelled, "Oh, get a room!"

"Oh, come on," he wiped his eyes of the tears that had gathered, still grinning. "How can you not find this hilariously ironic?"

Pam crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes still narrowed. "Why would you just assume she's trying to set us up? Maybe she just wants us to get along better. She's seen us fighting how many times in the last month? Besides, you have a girlfriend, remember? For two years? She must be aware."

Zack gave her a tight, close-mouthed smile, eyes sparkling with restrained mirth. He took a quick, shallow breath and straightened himself, trying to gather his wits, then exhaled a swift, speedy, "Sophie and I have never had the same English class, and your mom always eats lunch in her room, so she's probably never seen us together."

Pam raised an eyebrow. When he didn't continue, she chirped impatiently, "Well?"

He looked at her blankly. "Well what?"

Pam stared at him. Slowly, she let her arms drop out of their crossed state and clasped her hands together instead, her fingers turning a very unhealthy looking yellowy white. She said quietly, deliberately, "Why would you assume she's trying to set us up?"

Zack raised half his eyebrow and fell back against the wall again, taking on a very lazy posture. "Isn't it obvious? She's under the same impression you were when you read my poem—she thinks I'm a literary genius, and a," he put on a mockingly soft, kind expression, placing a hand over his heart, "deep, thoughtful guy." Breaking character to let loose a quick cackle that had Pam itching to slap her forehead, he finished normally, "Plus I'm popular, charming, make decent grades, and need I mention these devilish good looks I am so cursed with? What mom wouldn't be doing everything in their power to set me up with their daughter?" He grinned, all teeth in full view.

Pam stared at him for a long moment. Then, she dropped her head into her hand and shut her eyes, trying to teleport to any place but here.

Zack, seeing that she was struggling with herself, finally had mercy and dropped the grin with a light chuckle, hands coming up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll just have a mad make out session with Sophie in front of her at our earliest convenience and set her straight. Problem solved."

Pam, having raised her head at the beginning of his speech, had to resist rolling her eyes again. "Good luck with that."

Grabbing his backpack up from where it'd fallen on the floor, he slipped it on and flashed her a brilliant smile. With a flourish, he offered his arm out to her. "In the meantime, how about a spot of lunch, my dear?"

Seeing that they were returning to their safe zone of jokes and grandeur, Pam smirked and laced her arm through his, making her posture straight and regal. "Why, that sounds lovely, hubby wubby."

He wrinkled his nose and she laughed, jerking her arm back. "Too much?"

He squinted his eyes and held his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. "Just a bit." Letting his hand drop and his face ease, he started off in the direction of the cafeteria. She followed suit, taking care of her bag. While they walked, he casually informed her, "We'll have to talk more about the assignment later—my mom's picking me up right after lunch 'cause my Aunt Olga's coming down for a visit." Pausing a moment, he seemed to consider something before stating, "We might want to seriously consider doing the project at Slausens or something."

Pam looked at him with a confused expression. "Why?"

Zack rolled his shoulders in a shrug and flicked his eyes to the ceiling in thought, trying to figure out the best way to word his response. "Well, it's just that my aunt's gonna be around a lot while she's here, and she's a little… eccentric."

Pam scoffed. "Who in your family isn't?"

A smirk situated itself comfortably on Zack's face. "You sound like Josh."

Unwittingly, a smile touched Pam's face upon hearing this, but before anything more could be said, someone leaped in front of them and yelled, "Guys!"

Both Zack and Pam jumped back with a scream. Zack gained his sense back first, and laughed out, "Damn it, every time!"

"Don't laugh at me, dude, this is serious!" It was then Zack noticed the grave look on his best friend's face, and the way his legs and arms were spread, as if prepared to tackle someone at a moment's notice. Zack immediately felt a spike of dread just before Jaron confirmed one of his darkest nightmares and blurted out, "Taco Tuesdays are _no more_!"

Zack's eyebrow shot up in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me, man!" Jaron's face was agonized. Quick as lightning, he grabbed Zack by his collar and pulled him down to his level, whispering like he was divulging a government conspiracy, "_Someone_ filed a complaint. Something about the meat being 'questionable,'" he spat the word out, his face twisting in disgust. His face fell again the next moment, and his entire body sagged. "They replaced them for tofu—dude, _tofu_. Tofu Tuesday. Do you understand what this means?"

Zack gulped, a sweat breaking out over his forehead. "Your mom—"

"It's just as I feared," Jaron despaired, nodding his head like a broken bobble head. "She figured out I haven't been eating the lunches she gave me so she… I can't even say it." He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, focusing his eyes somewhere on the ceiling to keep the wetness suddenly coating the inside of his contacts at bay. "Dad tried to stop her, you know he did, but he couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it." He shook his head, taking measured breaths in and out of his mouth. Zack's bottom lip trembled.

Pam, who had been turning her head back and forth between the two during their exchange, finally spoke up. She tried to keep the incredulity from her voice and failed, "All this over overripe tomatoes on a stale tortilla?"

Jaron snapped his hazed eyes on her and shook his head, his brow still furrowed in pain. Zack shot her a disapproving look and tried to offer what comfort he could by patting his arms, which were still clutching his collar, but it did little. Jaron was in his own world for a moment, before he gained back his ability to speak and managed to reply, "Those tacos were my livelihood. My final act of rebellion. The only thing I could get away with right under my mom's nose… Without them, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll have to… to…"

Pam raised an eyebrow. "Eat healthy?"

"_No_," Jaron cried out in raw anguish and sunk to his knees, throwing his head back with his hands clutching at his forehead.

Pam watched as he struggled with himself and made a spectacle out of trying not to cry, before turning her eyes and awkward countenance onto Zack's frozen stiff one. "I don't… get it? The tacos weren't even that good."

Zack seemed to snap out of his stupor at this statement, and turned a sharp look on her that quickly melted away to a carefully blank one. "Okay, first of all, I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. Secondly, Mrs. Johanssen and Taro have been trying to force Jaron to eat healthy for years. But he hates it. Something about his digestive tract just doesn't agree with health food—"

"It's a genetic defect," Jaron regained his sanity long enough to pop in. "My Uncle Jamie-O and Aunt Tim have the same thing."

Pam, once again, found herself caught in a rut of snapping skeptical looks between the two. "That's not a real thing!"

Jaron scoffed, allowing Zack to help him back off of the floor. "That's what my mom and Taro and all the health books I've ever read say, too, but try telling that to my—"

"Okay, okay," Pam held her hands up and grimaced. "I get it. Whatever. Can we just get lunch? I'm sure you can get something from the vending machine."

As they all filed into the cafeteria together, Jaron let out a wistful sigh. "If only. They're packed full of rice cakes and apples."

Zack cringed and reached over to pat Jaron on the back, offering him a hopeful smile. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll sneak you a Mr. Fudgie from my locker later and stock up on Twinkies the next chance I get."

Pam snorted, grabbing her backpack off so she could throw it down on their usual table. "You can't. Hostess closed down months ago. You'll be lucky to get a cosmic sprinkle with how people have been packing them away."

Jaron threw his head back and wailed in another burst of agony. Zack gawked at him before swerving around to glare at Pam, yelling, "Are you trying to kill him?"

Pam, her jaw having dropped at Jaron's second outburst in the last five minutes, became very indignant at the added assault and yelled back, "Well what did you want me to do? _Lie_?"

"Yes!"

"Well, sorry, Carpet Forehead, but I'm not _you_!"

Zack blinked at this, shocked, before something dark crossed his face and he looked down on her with a very sour look. The two glared furiously for the next five seconds straight, each one trying to out-glower the other and only succeeding in making the other all the more livid. In the end, Zack was the one to finally relent and pull back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and kick her out of the cafeteria, the school, his _life_. Instead he took a deep breath to calm himself and cleared his face of all animosity, looking at her with a decidedly gentler expression. "All right, we lost our cool for a second. No biggie. Let's just move on." He turned away from her.

Before Pam could make a snippy comeback about him being a delusional nutcase, Jaron grabbed a chair loudly out from the table, letting it screech painfully against the floor before he fell into it unceremoniously. His head flopped down into his hands as he muttered desolately, "Easy for you to say. My life is ruined."

"Aw, Jarry." Zack grabbed the chair next to him and sank into it, reaching a hand over to grab him by the shoulder and give him a shake. When he looked over at him, Zack smiled buoyantly. "Look on the bright side—"

Feeling considerably short this afternoon, Jaron did something a little out of character for himself. He lost his patience, with Zack. He blamed Pam for that – and the lack of funky meat and expired cheese running through his system, but mostly her – she was starting to seriously rub off on him, and not in the way that he wanted. "Darn it, you and your bright sides," he groaned, giving him a tart look. "If this isn't a _really_ good one, I'm gonna be giving you a bright side in just a second, _honey_."

Surprised, Zack lifted his hand from Jaron's shoulder and let it flop gracelessly to his side. He looked a little lost all of a sudden, and if Pam didn't hate him so much, she might have felt sorry for him. In any case, the look was cleared away quickly enough by a smirk, and he responded brightly, with an undertone of mocking, "Well I can't guarantee complete satisfaction, but here it goes: My Aunt Olga's coming down for a visit. You know, the one Phil was so tight with? So Phil should be off our back for a couple of weeks." He grinned convincingly, as if he were selling him a car.

Jaron stared at him for three seconds that felt more like three years, before his head clunked down onto the table and he stated, slightly muffled, "I don't care."

Zack pouted, still mocking. "And here I thought you'd be happy for me!" He sighed contently, clasping his hands together in front of himself with a giddy air. "Two whole weeks of not having to deal with," he forced his face into a dry-eyed expression, his voice turning into an obnoxiously listless tone, "'You're an idiot. You don't know anything about anything. Your taste is atrocious. Sophie's a soul-sucking leech. Get that strawberry away from me. Bla, bla, bla, yada, yada.'" His head twitched violently to the left, one particularly irritating phrase he'd heard from Phil recently being conveniently left out, even though it was the principal annoyance that fueled his need to make fun of him lately.

Despite himself, Jaron couldn't help but laugh at the impression, but then promptly choked the sound down. Coughing a bit, he clasped his hands together under the table and muttered, "I shouldn't laugh. I like Phil. He's funny."

Zack snorted one of his startling snorts and shot back, "You only think that because you don't have to deal with him every day! Day and night, night and day, at dinner, going to the bathroom, trying to eat a _bagel_—everything's a fight. Every chance he has to criticize me or complain, he takes, and with zeal. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the little lunatic to death, but he never shuts up. It grows tiresome after a while." He sighed, his shoulders drooping forward. "It'll be good to get a break from all his ranting."

Pam sank into the seat between Jaron and him, asking before she could stop herself, "Yeah, why is he so sour anyway?" Seeing Zack look over at her with half of his eyebrow raised, she faltered. "I just mean, there's gotta be a reason. No one's that angry without a reason." She looked away.

Zack was shaking his head before she'd even finished her thought. "Nah, he's always been like that, it's just who he is. Even when we were kids, and I mean _kid kids_ and he was a toddler, he yelled at us all the time. He never let us have any fun. Food fight? No. Playing in the rain? No. Epic mud battle of doom? No, no, no. Because _that_ would be unethical." He frowned deeply, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his eyes down to stare at the floor, brooding on all the missed opportunities. He grumbled to himself, "Little party pooper."

Pam's brow creased, unsatisfied. "Oh, come on, he couldn't have always been as weird as he is. He doesn't even let anyone hug him without making a fuss."

Zack looked up with his eyebrow furrowed in thought, thinking that over a moment, before he looked back at her impassively and shrugged. "Well, he didn't always hate hugs. I mean, he's always had this weird 'personal space' rule but when he was a little kid, he used to always need something to cling to. It's hard to find any old family photos without him attached to _somebody's_ arm." His mouth flattened out as he thought about that, his eyes going hazy a moment. He spoke almost absentmindedly, "I don't really know what happened there. I guess he just grew out of it." Shrugging, he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt as he added more casually, "Other than that, though, he's always been the same."

"Didn't he used to want to run Big Bob's Beepers?" Jaron asked, something quizzical touching his face. He had a vague memory of a visit from the Shortmans where Phil was going on about all the stuff he was learning about the business.

Zack reflexively barked out a laugh. "Oh, criminy, _that_." He leaned over to rest his head on his fist on the table, a knowing smirk sliding onto his already insouciant countenance as he looked at his best friend. "That was just a phase."

Pam looked between the two, a lost look fogged over her profile. "What are you talking about?"

Zack shot her a look of pure amusement. "Big Bob's Beepers is the family business. Our grandpa started it, and he's always had his heart set on having Phil take over for him when he croaks, but Phil doesn't want to."

"But he used to," Jaron pointed out again.

Zack rolled his eyes. "Yeah. When he was a little kid and didn't know any better. Then Aunt Olga happened." Seeing the dense look still on Pam's face, his smirk became more prominent. "Aunt Olga's an actress," he explained, with no little amount of enjoyment in the statement. "Broadway. And Uncle Charlie's a playwright. Once Phil got a load of them, Grandpa Bob was cast aside in favor of pursuing an acting career. Bob insists it's just a phase, though, and I think he's got Grandpa Phil convinced too 'cause they still fight over what he's going to grow up to do. Grandpa Phil wants him to run the boarding house, Grandpa Bob's adamantly against that, and they both refuse to compromise." He laughed, looking like a little boy who'd just been handed a triple scoop cone of his favorite ice cream. "It's fun to watch the two of them go at it."

"I'm still not entirely convinced it's not a phase myself," Jaron stated, his eyebrows springing up.

Zack looked at him strangely, so he went on, "Think about it. He was all for running Big Bob's Beepers and the boarding house for six years straight, made people believe he didn't have a doubt in his mind, and then out of the blue he decided, 'Never mind, I'm gonna be an actor instead.' If it was something gradual I could believe it, but it was totally random. One day he's happy, the next he's intransigently against it. And he's sporadic about it, no less—one minute he's an actor, the next a writer, then director, then actor again, then he wants to be _all_ of them. I don't think he has any idea what he's doing. You can't exactly blame Mr. Pataki or Phil for not really trusting it."

Zack smirked at him, his brow scrunching. "Jaron, please. Insubordination is a right of passage. Embrace the rebellion, don't cast it aside as a silly whim of childhood past. Without people going against what they were told, we wouldn't be sitting here now, in America, being forced to eat a tofu-taco substitute in the middle of going to a school we are legally bound to attend. No, we might be doing the exact same thing in England, at the mercy of the monarch, but with much fancier accents. Think of what we may have lost!" Zack fixed him with a serious, steady-eyed gaze. Jaron frowned, unsure of where to even begin with responding to that.

"Um, yeah, excuse me," Pam cut in a bit sheepishly, in the process of repressing everything Zack just said, her eyes focused on Jaron. "What does intransigent mean?"

Jaron's eyes widened, and his cheeks darkened. "Oh… sorry. It just, uh, he refuses to change his opinion." Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, he gave a choked little laugh and averted his eyes. "I've lost count of how many times I've seen Phil explode on Mr. Pataki. He's usually a little more patient with _Old _Phil, but, I guess, like Zack said, if there's one thing Phil knows how to do anymore, it's how to go against people's expectations and wishes."

Zack beamed, flushed with pride. "That's my baby brother."

Pam rolled her eyes at Zack, making a point of keeping her flattening eyes on Jaron. He felt a level of unnerve at having such a dry, intense stare directed at himself, but Pam was hardly in a state to notice. "Well, there you go. You said it yourself," she said determinedly. "The decision to change was made randomly. _Something_ significant must have happened that made him hard pressed to turn things around. And who's to say that thing didn't also put him in a foul mood?"

Zack raised half of his eyebrow at her, bemused at her blatant refusal to look at him. "Why are you pressing this?"

She shrugged, turning her eyes down to look at her lap, much to Jaron's relief. "I don't know, I guess I just hate to see so much cute go to waste on such a dour personality…" She flicked her eyes to the left, taking mild note of the laughing teenagers across the room, and ran her tongue over the front of her teeth in slight agitation. There was more to it, of course. She wasn't dumb enough to ever tell Zack this, but she suspected he probably wasn't a very good older brother. How could he be? With his dominating, peremptory nature and the way he stared straight through people with that dopey grin on his face, who knew what kind of horrors he'd inflicted? She still remembered Jaron and that whole 'locked in a closet' incident, which was quickly, and much too easily (in her opinion) forgotten, which told her things like that weren't exactly unusual around here. How many times had Zack locked his "lunatic" little brother in a closet and forgotten about him? How many times had Phil "ranted" to him, trying to get something through to him, and he wouldn't even listen?

She felt somewhat responsibility for Phil in that sense, seeing him as someone who probably needed a little understanding. Despite all the horror stories she'd heard from Zack about his abhorrence of all things good in the world, he hadn't treated her in any special fashion in all the time she'd known him, which made her come to the conclusion that Zack was, once again, full of shit. But then again, Zack didn't seem like a particularly private person. Maybe he'd told his family about how supposedly "evil" she was, and Phil's ears had perked up, his mouth dampened, his pupils got all wide—and now he was slowly inching his way towards asking her to join the top secret evil organization he'd started that met up every Thursday and Saturday in the woods to discuss how much they hated everything and work on the blueprints of their Puppy Obliterator Ray. Wouldn't that just figure?

But no, she couldn't believe that of him. He was too short, and too cute, and too hard to figure out for her to think something that horrid of him this soon into the acquaintance. Besides, she was done assuming. Her first impression of him was that he was an anti-social, eternally angry little boy who wasn't right in the head, and the only thought she'd had of him was that it was probably a good idea if she kept her distance. But after all the stories and insults she'd heard from Zack and the many times she'd had opportunity to observe him over the past month, she'd gotten more curious than before. And concerned.

To put it simply, despite what Zack probably thought of her, she didn't bask in people's misery, and that seemed to be all Phil was. He walked around like he had a perpetual storm cloud over him 24/7, and you couldn't get close to him without getting zapped. Not to mention that whole "I hate goodness and cheer" mindset he had going on—if he wasn't evil and secretly plotting ways to destroy the world (as Zack liked to joke about), then there had to be some serious psychological issue going on there. There could be no other explanation.

In a weird kind of way, he reminded her of a much smaller, younger version of her own brother, and she couldn't look at him, with his bleak face and stiff, drooping posture, without wanting to give him a hug. It was probably a little silly to feel such a strong need to protect someone she barely even knew – not to mention was the little brother of her arch-frenemy and next-door neighbor – but it was what it was. Almost absentmindedly, she muttered, "I've been around a lot of people with attitudes similar to his, and it makes me wonder…" As she looked up and saw the mutual stares coming from both Jaron and Zack, she hesitated, biting her lip, before abruptly straightening her posture and stating, almost defensively, "I'm just saying he seems kind of depressed."

Both Jaron and Zack's eyes went very wide, very suddenly… before they both broke out in peals of laughter. Jaron slid all the way down in his chair and slapped a hand over his eyes, while Zack opted towards slapping his knee and banging his fist on the table. Pam was, understandably, offended and very confused.

Finally, Zack managed to croak out amidst their laughter, "Phil's not depressed!"

Pam's eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms across her chest sulkily. "I don't understand the reaction," she managed to strain out relatively calmly.

Zack sensed her flaring temper and bit his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut to keep from laughing anymore. He took in a deep breath then and exhaled unsteadily, before opening his eyes to grin at her, his eyes still twinkling with laughter. Grabbing his chair by the base, he hopped his way over to sit directly beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, his other hand coming up to pat the shoulder nearest to him. She stiffened in clear discomfort, but it didn't deter him. Rather, he sighed very audibly and quietly murmured, "Oh, Pam, Pam, Pam… Poor, naïve, ignorant Pam. You, my friend, are a victim of the great Philliam Fancy-Pants veneer."

Pam stared at him. "The what? What does this have to do with wood?" She shifted in his tight hold, feeling her skin crawl at the contact.

Zack merely rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "_Pamella_, you've fallen straight into his trap. Can't you see?" Seeing the impatiently uncomprehending look on her face, he chuckled and scratched his head. "Okay, let me see if I can explain this to you…" He looked up, his mouth quirked as he thought it over. Finally, he said, slowly, as if he were teaching a class of second graders, "You see, Phil will try to make you think otherwise, but he's actually a very happy, but very strange kid."

Jaron nodded his head, smiling at her sympathetically. "Very strange."

Zack nodded as well, smiling down at her. She looked up at him like every brain cell he'd ever had had just shot out his ear and flown off into the sunset. All two of them. Yet still, he went on, "He has no reason to be depressed." Looking over to Jaron, he nodded his head and Jaron obligingly began counting on his fingers as he spoke, "He's a kid, he's a straight A student, he's got a huge family who all adore him, and he has both the boarding house and the Beeper store to fall back on if acting doesn't work out so he's pretty much set for life. Not to mention he's cute as a button, even when he's looking at you like he wants to rip your throat out." He chuckled fondly, leaning back in his chair and effectively pulling Pam's stiff, unhappy form with him as he shook his head. "Phil just makes it his business to be displeased with everything because he wants people to believe he's a tortured artist, even though everything's great and he knows it." He flittered a hand in the air. "It's just, his temper, stubbornness, and that damn drama he's so in love with. It makes him act like a lunatic."

Squeezing her shoulders and eliciting a distressed squeak, he concluded with a speedy, "And this 'depression' he's convinced you of, is just an extension of his melodrama. It's an embellishment on his typically unimpressed persona. It's like when he tells me he hates my guts—he _says_ that, but I know he really adores me and wishes he was me." He smirked. "So don't you worry your little cherry berry head anymore on the matter, Shortcake, all is well." He patted her on the head with a wide smile, meaning to reassure her, and also make sure she didn't do something stupid, like try to talk to Phil about his supposed "depression" (which could only end horribly). Jaron nodded his agreement with the same tiny smile he'd had on throughout the entirety of his speech, wiggling the fingers he'd counted on at her to help emphasize Zack's point.

Pam, practically in a headlock by this point and totally fed up, growled and pulled herself roughly away, causing his arm to jolt back. Snapping a glare on him, she was disgusted to see that he actually looked bewildered. As if anyone would ever _not_ want him to touch them. Clenching her teeth, she grabbed a chunk of her ponytail and began hastily running her fingers through it to calm herself. Once she felt she could open her mouth without yelling something totally inappropriate, she asked, an edge to her words she couldn't help, "And how do you know that for sure?"

Zack smirked at her, relaxing back into his chair. "Just trust me. I've been Phil's big brother for eleven years. If there was something seriously wrong with him, I'd know." Silently, he added in his head, '_And if there's anything I've missed, I'll find it soon enough.' _Though unvoiced, the thought made a devious spark appear in his eye, one of which Pam caught and stiffened at the sight of for a split-second before forcing herself to relax.

Before another thought could be had on the matter, Zack grinned and whipped out Jaron's lunchbox from where it had been discarded haphazardly under the table. Flipping the lid back, he cheerfully proffered the contents to the other two. "Now who wants sushi and celery?"

Jaron threw his head back and groaned.

Just as Zack was about to laugh, his pocket started vibrating. Zack stopped, and put the lunchbox down so he could extract his cell phone. Expecting it to be his mom telling him she'd arrived early and to 'get his scrawny ass outside,' his eyes bulged when they came to rest on none other than Sophie's smiling, crystal-eyed face.

Zack screamed and threw the phone down on the table as if it had burned him.

Both Pam and Jaron's jaws dropped, and in a flash Jaron was out of his seat and looking Zack up and down, as if expecting him to burst into flames any second. "Dude, what is it?"

Zack looked like he'd seen a ghost, but upon turning his eyes up to see the stricken look of concerned horror on Jaron's face, and the dinner-plate-eyed shock on Pam's, he shook himself. Taking a breath, he turned his eyes back to the phone, his face carefully blank. Just as quickly the face broke, though, and before anyone could blink he was scooping the phone back up and flying up from his seat. "Nothing, I've just got to take this."

Before he could leave, Jaron grabbed him by his sleeve and gave him a meaningful look. Zack avoided his eye. "Dude…" he said slowly, giving him a stiff, wary, almost parental look, "who is it?"

Zack gulped and looked back down at his phone, which was still vibrating. He panicked and tried to leave again, but Jaron's hand wouldn't give out. Zack groaned, "Jaron, please, I'm gonna miss her."

"Who's 'her'?" When Zack started avoiding his eye again, Jaron's resolve became stronger than the sun and he grabbed fistfuls of the back of his shirt and yanked him back with all his might. Zack stumbled back with a yelp and flailed his arms forward, nearly falling back on Jaron. Jaron, anticipating this, pulled his chair out fast and then ran around him so he could push him in the chest and watch him fall flat on his butt back into his chair. Jaron put his hands on his hips and stood over him, his eyes hard. "You know what we talked about, Zack. If she's calling you then it must be working. Don't screw it all up _now_."

Zack looked pained. "But—"

Jaron gave him a look.

Zack stared at him for a long moment, then shifted his gaze down onto his phone again and stared for even longer. Finally, the buzzing ceased, and Zack ground his teeth.

Pam caught herself once again in a game of shooting her eyes back-and-forth between the two. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Jaron answered blandly, as if she'd just asked him what two plus two was, "Sophie."

Pam's eyebrows scrunched. "And… this is strange? That she'd call?"

Zack snapped his eyes on her and blinked. His eyes were very wide, wide in that foggy unseeing way he had sometimes, and his tongue darted out a second to wet his lips. He seemed to gain back some semblance of control over himself the next second as he looked back down at his phone, and murmured, "No, no that's normal." Standing up, this time in a more dignified manner, he smiled at Jaron and reached down to pat his shoulder, almost apologetically. "Sorry, Jar,' the mistress beckons. Ten seconds is plenty long enough." He shrugged jokingly, as if it simply couldn't be helped, and walked away to call her back.

Jaron stared after him a moment, before huffing out a harsh breath and falling back into his own chair. "Damn it, he was so close."

Pam frowned and leaned over the table towards him, looking almost ravenous with curiosity. "What? What was he close to? What's going on? C'mon, man, hook me up."

Jaron snapped his eyes on her and blinked, surprised. He looked uncomfortable then, as they were alone and that just seemed to be how he was. The moment Zack was out of the picture, Jaron became an awkward, shell-clinging little nerd, and Pam almost felt bad for grilling him. Almost.

They were friends now, after all. He should know she wasn't going to judge him. And even if she did, next to Zack, he practically glowed. Jaron was sweet and awkward. Zack was overbearing and pompous. Sometimes Pam wondered how they could be such good friends. They really didn't seem to fit each other, but they did. She was still trying to figure that one out.

His clearing his throat brought her attention back to him. He was looking at her. "Zack's just ignoring my advice and screwing himself over, as usual." At her wide-eyed stare, he broke down and elaborated, "Sophie never calls him. He calls her. It's just how their relationship works."

Pam blinked, disappointed. "Oh. That's all?"

Jaron looked relieved, and nodded readily. "Yes, that's all."

Pam caught his tone, and – slow and steady – a smirk slid onto her face. Once it was in place, she pointed a finger at him with a clever lift of her chin. "Ah, ah, ah. No hiding information from me, JJ. What was the advice?"

Jaron stared at her, stiff-lipped, before he scooted his chair a little further back and snapped his eyes across the room, in the direction of the lunch line. "My mom'll know if I don't eat it, I should probably at least get a plate, for appearances—"

"Oh no you don't!" Pam practically teleported her chair directly beside him, and he jumped at the suddenly close proximity. She leaned over, even closer to him, and his eyes shot wide. This close, she could see the glassiness of his contacts, and wondered how he could stand them if they were thick enough to be noticeable. The thought was short-lived, however, as the next moment she was batting her eyelashes at him and twirling a lock of deep red hair around her finger. "Come on, Jarry, I thought we were friends." She pouted cutely.

He stared at her, his eyebrows furrowed, as if he were struggling to comprehend something. "Are… Are you trying to seduce me into giving you personal information regarding my best friend in the entire world?"

Pam didn't falter. "Yes."

He stared at her a little longer, before he nodded rapidly and said, "It's working. Keep going." Yet, as she was about to do just that, she caught the illusory gleam in his eye.

She rolled her eyes and leaned away, amused by the large breath he released when she did so. "You're bluffing. You're not going to tell me anything." Crossing her arms over her chest, she eyed him speculatively. She knew him too well by this point. He was loyal as a pet rock. The day she got any information out of him regarding Zack that he didn't want to give was the day man invented a way to read minds. Nevertheless, she wanted to know—"Jaron, it can't possibly be that big of a deal. The longer you avoid the subject, the more determined to find out I'm going to become, and if in a few days you find yourself handcuffed to a streetlamp in the middle of the shopping mall parking lot at 3 AM with a shadowy voice whispering instructions to you over a walky-talky glued to your ear, I can't be held responsible for what might occur." She raised a sharp eyebrow. "It's in your best interests if you just tell me now and save us both the trouble."

Jaron gawked at her. Spluttering, he managed, "I didn't want to believe it, but geez, you _are_ evil."

Pam looked at him skeptically, a bit soured by the idea after her earlier thoughts. Puppy Obliterator Ray, her ass. "I'm not evil, Jaron. Just curious." She leaned into his personal space again, trying to be a little less threatening in the action, and a little more disarming. She really did like Jaron, she didn't want to scare him; she just wanted to know what the big deal was. Her face went a touch dry then as a thought occurred to her, and she muttered sarcastically, "I think I have a right to know about my husband's dealings with other women."

The second her statement made contact with his ears, he grimaced. "Oooh, you two got each other for that assignment?"

"Yep," she popped the 'p.'

Jaron's face twisted, as if he'd smelled something rancid. "That's not going to end well at all is it?"

"Nope," she popped the 'p' again, before she smiled hopefully, her olive eyes shining as she hunched over to look up at him, her head supported on her hands. "So will you tell me?"

Jaron sighed heavily and gave her the Bitch Eye. He couldn't hold the look for long with her staring up at him so innocently, though, and he eventually relented with another, slightly lighter sigh. "Fine. It's not like it's really a secret anyway, I just didn't think Zack would approve of you being this curious. He's really cautious of you, you know."

Pam beamed. "I know." Catching the almost wounded look in his eye, she swiftly added, "But I'm not going to do anything bad, Jaron, I promise. I told you, I'm just curious. Zack and Sophie's relationship kind of fascinates me. I don't really understand how he's still with her."

Jaron did a double take of her, his mouth falling open. Pam found herself mildly amused with the strong reaction, before he spoke, loudly, with great animation, "Have you _seen_ Sophie, Pam?" Before she could ask what the hell that meant, he went on, "Face of an angel, body of a goddess, hair like silk? Like eighty-three percent of the student body want her, and I'm including girls in that estimate. Why would he ever break up with her? If Zack wasn't with her, I would _tear that up_—"

"Ohhh-kay," Pam yelled, one eye clenched shut in revulsion as she bolted away from him, her tongue stuck between her teeth. "Save me the—the—_all of that_, spare me. When I said that, I meant that I didn't understand why Sophie was still with _him_."

Jaron's eyebrows flew up, smacked into silence. After a long, awkward moment where Pam was working her damndest to banish the idea of Jaron 'tearing' _anything_ up and Jaron wasn't sure how to word what he wanted to say, he finally reached a decision and reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Well, I mean," he started slowly, looking almost sad, "I know you probably won't agree, but Zack's a really great guy. He's cool and confident, and one of the most popular guys in school, so—"

"So build him a monument, I'm sure he'd love it," she huffed. She'd had just about enough of Zack's reputation.

"I'm just saying him and Sophie are both in a position that you'd almost _expect_ them to be together. It's not weird," Jaron sighed. Pam rolled her eyes. _Of course_, Prince Ass-Hat and his future queen, front and center. Maybe that was why Sophie was with him. It was just one of those social standing things that seemed appropriate, and she felt powerless to go against it. The thought made her angry, and Jaron noticed. Frowning, he said, "I don't understand why you hate him so much. I thought you guys were getting along now."

Pam cut her eyes at Jaron, unwilling to discuss _that_. "I feel we've drifted from the main topic here. Advice?"

"Brush two times a day and don't forget to floss—"

"_Jaron_."

He huffed, his shoulders falling as he gave up. "Okay, okay, fine." He checked to make sure Zack wasn't standing somewhere listening in, and there weren't any hidden cameras in the sushi, before he hitched the back of his sweater up and pulled it over his head, laying his head on the table in shame. He clenched his eyes shut as he confessed in a rush, "Zack can be a little too eager when it comes to Sophie, and he's afraid that it's pushed her away somehow and that's why he hardly ever sees her anymore, so I told him he should start ignoring her. You know, stop calling her, take longer to reply to her texts, 'forget' to meet her before lunch—act like he's losing interest so she'll have to be the one to put in the work for once."

Pam gawked at him, taken aback, his words repeating themselves over and over in her head. _Zack can be a little too eager_. _It's pushed her away. _So, that meant… Zack was essentially Sophie's bitch? She never would have expected that. The very idea made a grin spread steadily across her face, thinking it rather appropriate of the universe to place him in such a predicament. She'd only been coming to the school a month, but Zack's reputation was hard to avoid when you hung around him perpetually, and in her "curiosity," she'd already heard a fair amount of stories about his many past 'conquests.' As it would turn out, he was quite the rake. _Color her surprised_.

It would seem sweetly tragic, almost, if it were a book or something—the womanizing jackass falls in love with the charity-working sweetheart of H.S. 117, only to become too invested and drive her away, thus getting a taste of his own medicine and doomed to scream like a girl every time she called him. If Phil truly wanted to become a writer of some sort like Jaron said, then he should write _that_. That was funny as hell.

The full meaning of the rest of his speech hit her full force then, and the grin was replaced with a deep frown. "Wait a minute, you told him to _ignore_ her?"

He still wouldn't look at her, but she caught his nod.

"Why the hell would you do that?" She could hardly support any means of deception in romance. It was complicated enough as is. Besides, Sophie was busy. If he truly cared about her, he'd respect that, not be coming up with convoluted schemes to make her worry about his commitment.

Jaron still refused to look at her, so lost was he in his shame at revealing so much against his best friend, and yet found himself replying quietly, "Appearing too eager can push people away sometimes. Especially with girls like Sophie."

Pam blinked, staring at him. "Girls like Sophie?"

"Yeah, girls who like... like…" His shoulders tensing, he pushed his sweater back and attempted to stand. "I've said too much—"

She grabbed him by his arm before he could retreat and looked up at him imploringly, though there was a glint of something disapproving in her eyes. It did not seem directed at him, however, but that thought did not offer any comfort, knowing who was most likely on her mind. He turned his eyes away, wishing he could just walk away. She did not appear concerned. "Come on, Jaron, it's not a big deal. You don't need Zack's permission to talk to me. We're friends. _Real_ friends." The disapproval seemed to become more prominent. "You're a human being, not Zack's dog."

That statement seemed to snap him back to the present, but rather than calming down or even becoming defensive, as rousing him out of his troubled state was her intent, he only looked more tortured. He looked down at her with a strikingly guilty expression, brushing her hand off. "I owe Zack a lot, Pam. I can't speak against him." He shook his head down at her. "Look, I know how he seems, but please don't let appearances fool you. I made that mistake once and I've paid for it ever since. Just try to be patient."

Before she could ask him what he meant by that, Zack materialized in front of them, looking every bit as unflappably giddy as he could be as he slammed his hands down onto the table, demanding their attention. "What are we talking about?" He looked happily between the two, though his overly joyous behavior seemed to have an underlying mocking to it, if the smirk that was pulling at his lips was any indication.

Jaron stared at him for all of five seconds, shaking, before his nerves won out and, with a guilty squeak of distress, he rushed off to secure a spot in the lunch line.

Zack stared after him in surprise, before looking over at Pam with an inquiring raise of his eyebrow. "What did you do to him?"

Pam looked at him innocently. "Oh, nothing worth mentioning. Don't worry about it." She faked a smile. "What did Sophie want that kept you away so long?"

As he sank down into his chair, he regarded her with a blank, though content, expression. "Oh, nothing worth mentioning."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Two years in the past<em>**

The ride to school was as it always was. Zack was dropped off at the middle school not far back, leaving Josh and Phil alone in the car with Arnold at half past six in the morning. Another perk about staying at the boarding house for the month was that they got to sleep a little longer since the school was so much closer, something Josh took full advantage of, but Phil wasn't one for sleeping in. He'd been up and about for well over an hour now, and couldn't help rolling his eyes at Josh dozing off beside him. Zack had been much livelier conversation.

Feeling restless, Phil unbuckled himself and shot up, poking the top half of his body in between the front seats to get a better look at the roads. Arnold gasped and snapped his head around to give him the sternest look he could muster. Phil didn't notice the look at first, distracted as he was by the sun still lazily making it's way into the sky, but when he realized his dad was trying to drill his eyeballs into the side of his head, he slowly turned his head around to meet his eyes. His look was cautious at first, but the hard expression he found on his dad's face made his eyes widen.

Arnold raised a sharp eyebrow at him, and Phil jolted back into his seat, hastily buckling his seatbelt again before folding his hands in his lap. Despite his ready show of obedience, he couldn't quite help the sarcasm on his face as he did so, his chin high and look almost challenging. When Arnold only smiled at him and turned back around, he huffed and pouted at his hands, his thumbs dancing back and forth of their own accord.

Arnold finally decided to have mercy on him and asked, "Something wrong, Phil?"

Almost the instant the last letter of his name left his dad's lips, Phil was blurting out, "I'm bored!"

Arnold snorted, his shoulders jolting a moment from the violence of the action, before he ran a quick hand over his face to calm himself and replied, "I'm sorry to hear that, Phil. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Phil frowned, his wide eyes focused on squinting out through the morning frost of his window. As he quickly got sick of this, he took a deep breath and released it to spread out across the window, watching as the warm air progressively ate through the cold. Then, using the end of his sleeve, he reached up and wiped away the last of the fog, just in time to get a very good view of—fast passing buildings that were completely, unexcitingly identical. Huffing, he turned his sights back to his father's neatly combed head and asked anxiously, "Can I sit up front?"

"No."

"But Josh's drooling," he complained, casting a weary, mildly disgusted look over to where Josh's head was leaning against the window, a small line of drool bouncing steadily at the corner of his mouth.

Arnold paused at this, before reaching over to grab something out of the glove box. Before Phil could process what was happening, there was a pile of napkins in his lap and he could hear the glove box clicking shut. Phil stared down at the pile with his jaw slack for several moments, before gathering enough of his brain back to ask, "What's all this for?"

"Your brother."

Phil stared at the back of his head, willing it to turn so he could see for himself how utterly horrified he was. Finally, upon realizing this was not going to happen, he skeptically exclaimed, "I'm not touching him!"

Arnold didn't miss a beat. "Why not? You said you were bored and Josh was bothering you, so now you can kill two birds with one stone."

"Yeah, I am bored and Josh is gross, but that doesn't mean I want to clean up after him!"

Arnold waved a flippant hand back at him, hiding a small smirk. "Well, fine, don't then. Leave Josh to his early morning nap. I'm sure waking up in a puddle of his own saliva will be fun for him."

"It'd definitely be more entertaining for me…" Phil murmured, eyeing his brother uncertainly, before looking down at the napkins still piled in his lap. Grabbing them up quick, he shut his eyes and threw them at Josh all at once, his entire body going tense. He heard a faint murmur come from the other end of the seat, but then nothing. Prying his eyes open, he looked over to see Josh still sound asleep, only now with napkins all over his person—on his head, hanging off his nose, draped over his shoulder, but mostly strewn about his lap and the floor. And the dreadful little droplet of drool that had yet to break from it's long, silvery string connected to his mouth, remained untouched. Phil gawked, before crossing his arms over his chest and averting his eyes from the painful sight.

After a few moments of relative silence, filled with only the sound of tires running on asphalt and the occasional bump, Phil lost his patience again and asked, "How much longer until we're there?"

Arnold chuckled. "Eager to learn, are we?"

Phil frowned, as if the very idea troubled him. "No."

Arnold hummed, taking this as a game. Rubbing his chin as he pondered for a couple long seconds, he took a leery guess, turning his head in his direction, as if to look at him even though his eyes remained steadfastly on the road, "It wouldn't have anything to do with those three nice little girls, would it?" His voice was a little low, a sense of foreboding sprinkled across the words.

Phil's eyebrows flew up, but just as quickly the surprise was cleared away in favor of a small smirk. "Well, not in the way you're thinking, Dad."

Arnold flicked his eyes over his shoulder at him before looking back to the road. Quietly, with lightness forced into his tone, he asked, "In what way, then?" Of course, he knew what way already. He could remember third grade with his son very well—he'd spent the entirety of the year listening attentively and being an all around angel in class, before making all the girls scream the moment he stepped out of the room. He'd tried to investigate what the situation there was only once, and the sight of little Mercy Laporte, Georgia Beck and Adalynn Purdy covered from head-to-toe in foul-smelling green mop water, with the janitor sitting shocked on the floor and Phil grinning a mile wide a few feet away, was quickly suppressed.

He knew very well his son's relationship with the three—he tortured them, at every turn. He put worms in their lockers, stuffed their shoes full of sand, slathered their pens and the handles of their backpacks in grape jelly, and on one occasion even locked them in the boy's bathroom for an hour. He'd had to lecture Phil on the "proper way to treat a lady" so many times he'd lost count, but it had yet to stick. Phil always agreed to be better – just as he had a week ago when he broached the subject again – but he was wise enough at this point to know his son wasn't the best when it came to keeping his word regarding girls. He just couldn't seem to help himself.

This was particularly vexing for Arnold, because he'd never expected this kind of behavior from Phil. He was always the one to go around preaching morals and responsibility, and though he could never quite call Phil "well-behaved," he at least had good intentions and _attempted_ to stay out of trouble. Not to mention he actually listened, something Arnold had gained a great appreciation for since Zack… was Zack.

When he believed he was right on something, though, he stood by his opinion with feet practically bolted to the floor, and much to Arnold's concern, he always seemed to want to stand by opinions that weren't necessarily very… good. Of course, he and Helga had always encouraged their kids to be freethinkers, but this wasn't exactly what they'd had in mind.

At five, he'd been convinced light bulbs – _all_ light bulbs – were the cause for global warming, and everyone should revert back to the way they lived in the 18th century to stop it in it's tracks. And based on the fact he kept his curtains wide open in the morning and slept by candlelight at night, he still believed that to some extent, even if he never lectured anyone about it anymore. They were a strictly compact fluorescent family, always had been and always would be, thank you very much.

At six, he came to the conclusion owls were actually aliens from outer space sent to spy on unsuspecting civilians so they could figure out who and who not to abduct. The idea had come from some movie apparently, but they hadn't found that out until later. As a result, the family camping trip they'd had planned for months had ended up with Phil refusing to come out of the tent, and no one had been able to dissuade him. Rather, he convinced everyone else to come _in_, and that was where they'd remained for a good chunk of the trip. Arnold still had no idea how he'd done that.

But worse than all that was when they went up for a routine visit to check on the Green Eyes and he'd looked at them, looked at himself, and then "realized" he was one of them. He hadn't wanted to leave then, and Helga had had to drag him kicking and screaming back to the airport. There'd been a very teary, awkward conversation on the plane back home then where he confessed he wished he were blond too. Arnold still wasn't sure what to make of that experience, but luckily Phil was long over that. Helga was a miracle worker when it came to Phil.

His most recent and longstanding dislike, though, had centered on girls sometime around the first grade. That was when the first complaint had been lodged, though it had been brief. Second grade had only made to strengthen his aversion of the opposite sex, and by third grade he was already causing mischief and picking fights. At this point, Arnold was ready to call him obsessed, and suspected his son might have a crush on one of the three girls, if not all of them. As much as Arnold saw himself in his son, he couldn't deny that he was just as much Helga's as his, and the idea that he might use torture as a tool to demonstrate his affections wasn't far-fetched by any means.

Of course, Phil being the inquisitive little thing that he was, he'd realized his father's thoughts early on. Still smirking lightly, Phil replied, rolling his eyes, "I'm not going to do anything, relax… Or at least, nothing too terrible." He looked outside.

Arnold stiffened in his seat. "Phil!"

"What?" Phil yelled back, defensive, his head flying back around.

Arnold sighed. "I thought we had an understanding. You can't keep behaving like this. I can hardly believe they haven't complained to the principal already."

"Well, of course they haven't. They take things too personally to just rat me out and be done with it. Besides, if they start snitching, then I will too. They're the ones who started everything, after all." Phil scowled slightly, leaning back in his seat with his arms tightening against his chest.

"Phil," Arnold said, trying a gentler approach, "whether they started things or not, it's up to you as a respectable young man to take it in stride and not provoke them further. What you've been doing can only make things worse. Girls are confusing, I know, but you can't—"

"You can't this, you can't that, you can't up, you can't down," Phil complained, uncrossing his arms so he could gesture accordingly with his words. His scowl having deepened during his small outburst, he let his hands drop to the seat at his sides and went on indignantly, "Why not, Dad? Because they're girls they can just get away with anything? If this were boys, would it matter so much if we were fighting? Just because I'm a boy and they're girls doesn't mean I'm just going to sit around and take their crap—"

"Phillip Shortman!" Arnold gasped, his tone strictly reprimanding.

"Well, I'm not!" Phil threw his hands up. "I've done everything that you've told me to ever since kindergarten. When they ruined my macaroni sculpture, I asked for more macaroni and started over. In first grade when they replaced my glue with marshmallow fluff, I said, 'Thanks for lunch.' In second grade, when they started calling me Midgie the Midget King and tied my shoelaces together, I didn't do _anything_. But their reign of terror had to end someday. I am only a man!"

Arnold stifled a chuckle, and choked out before he could help himself, "You're eight."

Phil scoffed. "I'm practically nine, Dad. You can't baby me forever." Clicking his seatbelt off, he shifted over into the middle of the seat, careful not to touch Josh, and popped his head out between the seats to look his dad in the eye. Arnold snapped his head around to look at him in surprise, but he just squinted his eyes at him and continued, "I refuse to give them special treatment just because they bathe themselves in body spray." Crinkling his nose, he concluded his speech with a tone of vague irritation, "There's only so much I can take before I have to snap and retaliate, Dad. You can't seriously expect me to just endure it forever and not stick up for myself. I'd have to be out of my mind."

A violent tango flashed before Arnold's eyes, ending with a sudden splash that still reverberated loudly through his skull, and he found himself perfectly understanding his son for a moment. He could remember very well what it was like to be at your wit's end with the female populace—with their pretty clothes and fair skin and shiny hair, Arnold had often found their difficult nature easily pardoned, but even he could only take so much before the idea of "being a gentleman" seemed wholly overrated. Ceaseless rejection, mixed signals, insults, pranks, and a lifetime's worth of hate could really catch up to you, and he understood very well that finally gaining the upper hand over a situation that had always felt impossible was very addicting. Arnold, for all his "saintly goodness," could not say he had never had guilty pleasures that may have run along the lines of sadistic. He could not deny some people needed to be put in their place sometimes. If anything, with how passionately blunt Phil was, he was impressed he'd lasted as long as he had.

But even still, at thirty-seven years old now and with sixteen years worth of marriage under his belt, these were old emotions and thoughts he could no longer pay any heed to, or moreover, find any sense in. Throwing gasoline over a fire did nothing to dissuade it from trying to eat you alive—quite the opposite, really. He wished he could find some way to get through to Phil and make him see that. But even if he were able to, if his assumptions were correct and they were waging war out of some misguided sense of attraction, would it really matter? As far as he knew, Phil had never had a crush before, so who was he to deny him the pleasure? Even if the feelings involved were more that of pain and annoyance than any kind of actual enjoyment?

The answer was simple, of course. He didn't want his son to get in trouble with Principal Deon. Arnold didn't want to have to deal with that man anymore than was strictly necessary, and he especially didn't want him anywhere near his son.

Shaking himself, Arnold noticed they had reached their destination, and drove around back to park his car in his usual spot. Josh had yet to rouse, and Phil was still staring at him in willful disobedience, practically daring him to speak against him, and once the car was turned off and the break in place, he did just that.

Turning in his seat to look at Phil with a look of deep understanding and remorse, he said, "Phil, I understand that they make you angry, but when I say you should grin and bear it, I'm not saying it because they're girls. If they were boys, it would be no different. You want them to leave you alone, don't you?" Though he still looked a bit wary, Phil nodded his head. Arnold smiled patiently. "Then pranking and making fun of them back can only make things worse. You're only lowering yourself to their level. For whatever reason, they seem to dislike you—have you ever thought maybe you did something—"

"I didn't do anything," Phil interrupted him defensively with a compulsive frown.

"Girls are mysterious creatures, Phil. Just because you don't _think_ you did anything, doesn't mean you didn't." Despite himself, Arnold rolled his eyes, his face going a touch dry. Oh, to be young and naïve. He was glad he didn't have to learn that lesson again. Coughing on a small chuckle, he asked, "Have you ever tried just asking them? Talking things out?"

Phil's frown deepened. It was all the answer he needed, and he went on, quietly and heavy with meaning.

"I have always been very proud of your resolve, Phil. When you believe in something, you stick by it. But sometimes I think you let your emotions cloud your judgment. Don't let your anger get in the way of doing what you know is right. And especially not over some silly girls." Flashing a sudden smirk, he reached up with ninja-like speed and ruffled Phil's hair. Phil yelped and flapped his hands above his head to make him stop. Snickering, Arnold let his hand fall away and warmly finished, "You think you can do that, Midge?"

"Dad," he whined, reaching up in a vain attempt at straightening out his hair again. "I just combed that this morning!" Shaking his head, he couldn't seem to look him in the eye, and Arnold knew his words had hit home. After a long moment, Phil finally met his eye and the chastened look he found there made Arnold's smile widen. He reached over to give him a light embrace, feeling Phil stiffen for a second before relaxing and returning it. Arnold tightened his grip briefly, with the words, "I love you, Phil. I hope you have a good day today," before releasing him.

Phil stared at him a moment, his green eyes curiously bright, before he grinned. "Thanks, Dad. I… yeah. You know." He awkwardly patted his shoulder, a slightly embarrassed look setting color to his face, before he looked back at Josh still asleep and smirked. Before Arnold could process the evil glint in his eye, Phil was already spinning around and launching straight into Josh's face, shouting, "Wake up, time for school!"

Josh shot awake with a scream. Before he could strike out and punch Phil, Arnold panicked and pushed Phil out of the way, causing him to fall back into his seat on his back. As a result, Josh struck out and punched the back of Arnold's seat so hard he propelled forward and hit his chest against the steering wheel with a painful, "Umph," making the car horn go off and wail across the parking lot. Phil promptly burst out into laughter upon witnessing all this, and threw his head back against the seat in the thick of hysterics.

Josh looked around blearily, before going cross-eyed a moment at the napkin on his nose. He brushed it off and coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What did I miss?"

Arnold stared bleakly forward, his face utterly flat as Phil's raspy laughing filled his ears. "Oh, nothing important."

Yes, Phil certainly wanted to be good.

Sometimes Arnold wondered if that was just going against nature, though.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** OKAY SO NOW THAT THAT'S OUT OF THE WAY GUESS WHAT

I HAVE A PLAY IN MEXICO.

:D

ALSO FIGURINES

:D

I'M COMPLETELY SERIOUS RIGHT NOW, NO JOKE

**Winis-DiCaprio** on dA suggested to her high school class that they do LwtS as a play. AND THEY ACCEPTED. AND DID IT. I HAD PEOPLE IN MEXICO DRESSING UP AS MY CHARACTERS AND ACTING OUT PARTS OF MY FIC.

NGJKS BGLKS NGLKSLKG NS *Bawls*

Okay, okay, calming down now. I promised myself I wouldn't spazz out, LOL. If you don't believe me, **Koizumi-Marichan** (who also drew a picture of Zack and Helga together, btw, which is, like, just another reason she's fabulous) posted pictures from Winis on dA. :D OMG, you guys. I nearly died. XD Not only that, but Winis ordered a figurine of a family pic I drew on dA of these guys, which is also posted on dA. You guys... I can't even right now. I can't even. I just can't. xD It came out of freaking nowhere. Like the effing Koolaid Guy or something. No words. No air. Just rainbows.

Winis, just the knowledge that you exist is going to keep me going with this silly fic for a long time. XD Thank you.

_**REVIEW!**_


	22. Like His Father

**A/N: **This was long overdue.

**Disclaimer:** I own dis shizfizzle in the nit of hiz and wow, is it 3 AM already?

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><p><strong>Like His Father<strong>

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><p>Arnold stared anxiously down at his resume, nibbling on the eraser end of his pencil as he thought. Humming, he checked off a couple boxes and added a few more credentials and people who could recommend him, just to be safe. He'd worked a long time to get this job, and now that he was just a scant two weeks away from finally landing the position he wanted, he wasn't going to cut any corners. Failure wasn't an option at this point.<p>

He let out a soundless sigh as he flipped through the rest of the papers he still needed to fill out, and hooked a finger on his collar to loosen it a bit. His dark, cornflower blond hair fell in thick strands over his forehead, an unfortunate result of the summer heat he'd been out working in earlier. Stopping on the last page, he stared for a while, thinking, before letting all the papers fall back on the table as he leaned pensively back in his chair.

Becoming an elementary school teacher wasn't something he'd dreamed about as a child. He'd always had more fantastical ideas in mind for his future—an explorer, pilot, doctor, ambassador, anything and everything that would get him away, far away, and into a world of his own—but once he was out of High School he found that all he really wanted to do was settle down and focus on his family. That had always been the most important factor in his life, as far as he was concerned, and he knew that as long as he was able to protect it, he would be happy. He didn't want to run away and forget. He had no reason to anymore.

Being close to his parents, grandparents, the boarders, his wife—those were the things that truly mattered now, and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that. He'd already lost his parents once, Helga twice, and even had a few scares with his grandparents in his short twenty-three years. There would always be time for adventure, later in life, when he was certain nothing would go wrong that would prevent their being together.

Currently, they were living in the boarding house, which Arnold had taken command of after Phil and Gertie retired to Florida. He couldn't very well let the boarders become homeless, after all—or, he supposed, they wouldn't really be homeless, per se. Lola had been trying to persuade Ernie to move into her apartment for years, but he'd always said it felt wrong to leave behind "the family," as he'd long come to think of them as. Mr. Hyunh, as well, could always move in with his daughter and her family, which Arnold knew they would be more than happy to do, but remained for more or less the same reasons.

Suzie and Oskar stayed mainly because they couldn't really afford to live anywhere else. They could, he supposed, find a rundown little apartment somewhere if they absolutely had to, but Arnold didn't have the heart to turn them out…

Of course, all of this was complete poppycock, and the real reason Arnold refused to let the boarding house get sold was because he thought of them all as family as well and couldn't stand to see them part ways. Phil had seemed more than okay with selling and kicking them all out, but Arnold couldn't allow him to do that. The boarding house, though it had only come into the family through a game of cards, had a history to it that made selling it feel wrong. Phil had not seemed particularly put out by the idea of keeping the boarding house in the family, so much as he was by continuing to have the crazy lot that occupied it around any longer than had been necessary to pay the bills. Arnold had made his feelings more than clear on the matter, and in the end Phil had complied, albeit begrudgingly.

The house would only remain in his care until his parents got back from their traveling, however. The house was the rightful inheritance of Miles Shortman, not him. Arnold was just fine with this, as the house was already very full, only had two bathrooms (one of which was hidden in a very dark, drafty, and frankly dirty part of the house—there had, at one time, been one other private bathroom, in Mr. Smith's room, but after he moved out he took the toilet with him, and they had yet been able to afford a new one), and was rather worn down. He had not the money, nor the time, to dedicate to the repairs that would be required to make it a suitable enough living for what he wanted for the new members of the family, namely his wife and son. No, this was not ideal, but they would make it work for as long as they must. He hoped very much this would not be their only child, and had hinted as much, but Helga had yet to respond with anything but amusement and eye rolling.

In the meantime, he made it his mission to get a decent job so he could start contributing to their house fund. At the influence of Helga's midnight whisperings in his ear, he'd come to dream very largely of making a nice home with her, of 2.5 kids, a white picket fence, and the whole nine yards. With every day – and every time they were interrupted from any sort of intimacy by someone barging in, screaming, or complaining – his want for it grew, and he began to understand, at least to a small extent, his grandpa's exasperation and consequent need for departure.

That wasn't to say he didn't love them, but with all he had going on, he just didn't have the mind for it currently. His correspondence with his father had become more and more urgent as a result, much to Mile's both concern and mild amusement. Miles was of a more like mind with his son than Phil was, as he'd grown up in the boarding house with the boarders as well and had grown a certain amount of attachment himself, but nothing like Arnold had. He stated more than once that if he ever changed his mind, that if it proved to be too much for him, he had his full permission to sell, but Arnold always replied the same, sympathetically, that it was simply not within his capability to do so. Miles had been silent for a time on one phone call when the subject had come up, before promising to return home as soon as he could, if that was his wish. Everyone was happy to keep the boarding house, they just worried about Arnold's motivation.

It had never been anyone's intention for Arnold to become as attached as he had to the boarders, and Arnold could well understand his grandpa's slight bitterness and his parents apprehension on the topic. The plan had always been that Miles and Stella would take care of him, raise him, with Phil and Gertie there to assist—the boarders, though long-time friends, were never considered family. Miles and Stella had been saving up to get a house of their own to raise him in before they got lost—he would have grown up in relative normalcy and surrounded by domestic bliss, but instead his parents had – everyone thought – died in what was supposed to be a quick mission, his grandma went senile from the grief of it, and Phil was left with a grandson who was so desperate for some kind of familial security that he turned to the _boarders_. Arnold couldn't very well help it, though. What had happened had happened, and he loved the boarders like family, and that was just the way it was. Perhaps it was not _ideal_, and not what Phil or his parents had wanted for him, but it was all he'd had for a very long time. He didn't regret loving them, and he was thankful for Helga being there to back him up on it, as she had apparently always longed to call them family as well. Now that she had them, a pain in the butt or no, she was adamantly against losing them.

"They're absolutely crazy, dysfunctional and too pig-headed for their own good," she'd explained to him one night, with a rueful look in her eye. "I fit right in."

They were still boarders, however, this was still a boarding house, so there was a considerable amount of business that had to be attended to. Things had to be fixed, maintained, meals cooked, rooms cleaned, complaints attended to, bills paid, and rent collected. It was hard work, and Arnold was but a young adult fresh out of college trying to build a life for himself. He had bigger things to worry about. He wasn't eager to move out or anything, but he couldn't deny he'd be relieved to have his parents back to take the load off his shoulders a little. Maybe then he'd be able to focus less on trying to hold onto his old life, and more on the one he wanted so badly to create.

Absentmindedly, he felt his eyes drift across the room to where his very big, very pregnant wife was lounging on the bed, half-dozing with a bowl of peach oatmeal slathered in mustard at her side, cradled in the slouch of her arm. He was sitting by the window at a table they'd hauled in as a makeshift desk, so he could stay as close to her as possible and keep an eye on her 'condition.' Everyone was hyper-aware that her due date was getting closer and closer, and they were all on edge because of it. It'd be any day, now.

It annoyed Helga to no end at first, having everyone staring at her so intensely and insisting on helping her with every little thing. Even at this stage in the game she was on the defense on the matter, insisting she could manage fine by herself, but she was finally starting to relent a little since it wouldn't be long before it was all over with. Arnold was grateful for that, because he was sure he'd go completely out of his mind if she didn't stop pushing him away every time he offered to assist her down the stairs, or open a door, or get her the remote that was four inches away. He _needed_ to feel useful. He couldn't stand just sitting by while she suffered.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he stared at her stomach, a habit he'd acquired over the last several months, and one he probably still wouldn't be able to break after the baby was finally out (he could already imagine how weird it would be to look at her stomach, flat and empty, with their son on the _outside_). He watched for a long time in silence, enjoying the soft rise and fall that assured him of her well breathing, and smiled when he saw her nose twitch every once in a while. Occasionally, there'd be a small jerk, and Helga would wince before chuckling lowly and drowsily patting her stomach. He could never control the grin that spread across his face when that happened.

Finally, he gave up on trying to get anymore work done and placed his pencil down, pushing his chair back from the table. He kept his hands on the edge of it, his chair out, but made no move to stand. Instead he turned his eyes to the ceiling fan, trying to catch one of the blades with his eyes, as a show of nonchalance. When he spoke, he spoke idly, quietly, as if he hadn't just spent the better part of ten minutes staring at her stomach. "So…"

There was the short shuffling sound of sheets and mattress springs giving under weight, and he knew without looking that she'd turned on her side to look at him. Her voice came back as a sarcastic, almost-hum, "So…"

Arnold's eyebrows worked gradually up the length of his forehead. "Thought…" He cleared his throat. "Have you thought of any names?"

There was a pause. "Bob would make Dad happy."

Arnold snapped his eyes onto her in alarm, but they fell half-lidded the second he registered the mirth twinkling in her eyes. He resisted the urge to roll his own. "Very funny, Helga."

She chuckled softly. "I thought so."

"Seriously." He stood up from his chair and picked it up at the base, moving across the room so he could set it beside their bed. As soon as it was in place, he sunk down into it, his fingers lacing together under his chin and thumbs pressed to his bottom lip. Twiddling them a moment nervously, he quickly unlaced his fingers and sat back, averting his eyes. Helga's amusement only doubled at the display. "I know we've played around with ideas enough, but it's getting to the time when we're going to have to… to come to a decision."

Helga snorted, shutting her eyes. "Let's just name him George and be done with it, huh? I'm a little too tired for this discussion right now, honey."

"Helga…" he dragged lowly, giving her a look. He knew this game well enough by now to know she was just trying to avoid the subject.

"Football Head…" she whined back sarcastically.

"We have to talk about this sooner or later."

Helga sighed heavily, and rolled over onto her back again, forgetting about the bowl that was just starting to tip. Arnold hastily flew forward and grabbed it before it could dump and placed it on the bedside table. Helga didn't even notice. "I know, I know, Arnold. It's just a really big decision. I mean, this is what he's going to be called for his _entire life_. I don't want it to be something dumb, like, Albert or Floppy Joe—"

"Helga, come on—"

She sent him a sharp look, continuing her speech with an added force behind her words, "_Arnold_, Helga, _Olga_—I mean, honestly, what were our parents thinking?"

"Well, I know Bob was thinking Russian names make for strong women, which at this point I can't exactly argue against." Helga's face softened slightly. Arnold smiled as he went on, "And I was named after the grandfather I never got to meet."

Helga scoffed, her head rolling on the pillow as her eyelids fluttered. "Poindexter." Peeking out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyes narrow slightly and smirked. "Yeah, Big Bob's got issues if you ask me, but my point is I just don't want him to feel like an idiot like I always did and," she snorted, "I'm sure you did at some point, Geek-Bait." He pursed his lips. She suppressed a laugh against her fist, flicking her eyes up to focus on a spot on the ceiling. "I just want a… unique, strong name, but not _too_ unique or out there. Something with an edge, and… history. Something he could be proud of, you know?" She laced her fingers against her stomach and closed her eyes, a contented smile washing over her pale lips.

Arnold hummed at this, his eyes drifting down in thought. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he looked back to her and asked, "Well did you have anything in mind?"

A harsh breath was expelled from her mouth as she turned over so her back was to him, her arms wrapping instinctively around her belly. "I don't know, Arnold, you pick something. Clearly you've been thinking about it. What do _you_ want to name him?"

Arnold's eyebrows went up in surprise, having not expected her to hand the reigns over so easily. They'd had an unspoken agreement between them that she'd get to name their first born—or, he'd _thought_ they had, at least. Evidently, she didn't care as much as he thought.

Or, more likely, she really was tired and just cowering away from having to make a decision. Well, fine. He'd humor her. Sucking in a slow breath through his nose, he looked down at his lap, as looking her in the eye wasn't an option anymore, and thoughtfully muttered, "Well… Joshua's a—"

Helga groaned and rolled over suddenly, sitting up slightly just so she could glare at him more effectively. "Seriously, Arnold, what's with you and Bible names exactly?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow, defensive. "Hey, it's not like I'm suggesting Jehoshaphat or anything. Joshua is a perfectly reasonable name."

"Ha, yeah, if you want him to be a complete _nerd_." She wrinkled her nose. "Besides, it's so common. So, so…"

"Normal?"

"Yeah."

"I thought that's what you wanted?"

She gave a defeated sigh and flopped back onto the bed. "Well, yeah, but no too… I want him to have a name that doesn't condemn him to a life of name-calling and dorkdom, I didn't say I wanted him to have the most commonplace name around. If we were going to do that, we might as well just name him John."

"Helga, nowadays no matter what name we choose, there are going to be a million other people out there with the same name. And if we go through a long list of names and choose one from there, it's unlikely it won't spike in popularity eventually and soon even it won't be unique anymore. We shouldn't worry so much about singularity and focus more on what _we_ want to call him. What we like, whether it's _normal_ or not."

She stared at him for a long time, before she turned her face away. "Stop making sense, you're confusing me."

Arnold looked at her hopefully, a smile turning his lips as he leaned forward in his seat. "Does that make anything come to mind?"

Helga stared up at the ceiling, her eyes spinning in tune with the fan as it circled continually around. The fan seemed to mirror her thoughts at the moment, and finally she had to just close her eyes against the dizzying sensation it was causing her and sigh, her hands groping for the blanket. "I don't know, Arnold. Gimme some time to sleep on it."

Before her hands could even make contact with the blanket, she felt it being pulled up to her shoulders, and opened her eyes just in time to find her husband's kindly face hovering over hers. Her lips parted slightly as she stared at him, entranced with how much sincerity and compassion he could put into one look as he tucked her in.

"Of course, Helga." His lips pressed against her hairline and her breath caught, before he pulled back just enough to bestow her with one last loving smile. "Don't stress too hard on it. We'll think of something."

And just like that he was gone, back across the room to work on his resume, and Helga was left with her head even more disorganized than before.

Bereft, she turned her eyes down to stare at her stomach, where she knew her and Arnold's child lay sleeping. Leaning her head closer and tucking herself up a little tight on her side, she whispered, "What's your name, my darling? Hm?"

There came no reply.

Helga humphed, and aggressively snuggled deeper into her pillow. "Some help you are."

A hard kick came a second later, and Helga grimaced, sucking in a sharp breath as she shot a glare at her stomach. "Little jackass." He kicked her again for that and she cursed.

She could feel Arnold's concern before he even said anything. "Everything all right, Helga?"

Helga coughed out a quiet chuckle and looked at him over her shoulder, her expression wry as a smirk stretched out across her lips. "Your son's gonna be a real scrapper, Arnold. He's already getting a head start with his mama."

She had to admit, the kicking was almost worth seeing Arnold try to force a strained smile onto an already half-cringing expression.

He looked congested. She smirked and turned to go to sleep.

* * *

><p>3 AM. She could hear the TV still playing faintly at the back of her consciousness, could feel her husband's warm presence passed out on the couch not three feet away from where she sat, but she did not look. She was still a little angry he was even there to begin with. She didn't need a <em>baby sister<em>. Or, rather, a woman-pregnant-with-the-baby sitter. Or—yeah. Never mind. It was 3 AM.

He was just _so_ determined to stick close by her these days. No matter where she went, he followed behind her, like a dog that couldn't resist sniffing it's master every five seconds to make sure she still smelled the same. It would be sweet, really, if it wasn't so pathetic. He had obviously been exhausted; she didn't understand why he didn't just go to bed. She was pregnant, not an invalid. She could take care of herself just fine.

She didn't have the presence of mind to really worry about this right now, though. She was sitting awkwardly in a small nest of pillows with her back supported against the front of the couch, staring dumbly at the laptop placed in front of her on the coffee table. The light was almost obnoxiously bright in the darkness of the family room, but it was the only thing keeping her from forgetting what her purpose was and having her eyes drift to the Abdicator's hot, shirtless body as he blew entire buildings up on the television.

She'd told Arnold she was just doing some research for her book, but the truth was she was scrolling through a ridiculously long list of names on Nameyourkid dot dum. So far, by her count, she'd looked at approximately 37,000 names with only about 73 possibilities written down in her notebook. Every one of which she'd discarded by now. Her eyes burned.

Whining slightly at the back of her throat, she played around with the idea of getting something from the fridge and going to bed, but then discarded that idea as well. There was no way she was moving from her spot. She'd been stubborn enough to insist on sitting here, so here she would stay—she'd made her fucking bed so now she had to sleep in it. Never mind that she wasn't sure she could get up without breaking something. It was just how it had to be. In the name of… honor.

She was much too tired to try to go to sleep, anyway. Which made no sense, but it was how she felt. One more hour, to give old numbnuts some time to rest, couldn't hurt anything.

Boredly, she flipped to a random Clickipedia page and decided to actually try to get a little research done for her novel. It was the first in a long series of books she wanted very badly to write, provided the first one made a decent profit, so it was important that she get this done. Or whatever. She couldn't bring herself to care about her dreams right now.

As her eyes drifted over the names of all the past presidents, she began randomly clicking on the ones that actually somewhat interested her, or something _close_ to interested her anyway. American History was always either brain-meltingly exasperating or endlessly fascinating to Helga, depending on her mood—there really wasn't any in between. Currently, she was tired, frustrated, in that horrible foggy-brained state where she couldn't seem to focus on any one thing, and vaguely had to pee. So of course History held little appeal to her at the moment. Still, she felt a little guilty about lying to Arnold, so this was to help clear her conscience a little. She just didn't want him to know she really was bugging out about the whole name situation, 'cause then she knew he'd start worrying which would only make her worry more, which would make him worry to the point of becoming a serious annoyance, which would make her all the more agitated and, well, there was no desirable ending to that scenario. They couldn't even have make-up sex.

Her face twisting, she stared at James K. Polk's page blankly for she-didn't-know-how-long, before rolling her eyes and switching to the next president.

Zachary Taylor. She snickered slightly at the expression on his face in his picture. He looked old. There was no other way to describe him. Floofy-haired, unkempt, and _old_.

Attempting to sniff away an itch, she grunted and reached a hand up to rub the bottom of her nose with her wrist, all the while her eyes skimming over Mr. Taylor's information. 40-year military career, War of 1812, Black Hawk War, Second Seminole War, The Mexican-American War, nicknamed "Old Rough and Ready"…

"Criminy," she mumbled, leaning closer to the screen with a tiny smirk. "Enjoyed kicking ass, did we, Zachary?"

A series of sporadic kicks came unexpectedly in her side and she cringed, snapping her laptop shut with a reflexive jerk. "Okay, okay, don't get your diaper in a wad. You're uncomfortable, I got it. Sheesh." Huffing, she pushed her laptop away and leaned forward, attempting to get a grip on the edge of the sofa so she could push herself up. "I don't get why you didn't say anything earlier if you were so unhappy. Speak up once in a while, huh?" She glared at her stomach.

As she was struggling to push her fat ass up from the floor, she heard a mumbling come from beside her, followed by the shifting of fabric.

Arnold's confused, sleep-hazed voice came only a few seconds later, "Helga?"

Helga sighed and rolled her eyes, succumbing to her fate. "Before you ask, yes, I'm having trouble, and yes, I could use your help."

Arnold's eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked, before all but jumping out of his seat to assist her. She couldn't help but smile at his eagerness, and held her arms out for him. With one arm gripping firmly to her arm and the other around the small of her back, he managed to heave her up off of the floor and into a somewhat standing position. She stumbled back from him once she was up, before grabbing him abruptly by the shoulder to stop herself from swaying backwards. Her back aching and ankles protesting, she allowed her eyes to roll into the back of her head for a moment as she muttered, "Oh, hell, I feel like Moby Dick's mom."

Arnold chuckled a little and put his hands on her shoulders to help steady her. "If it helps at all, you don't look anything like her."

Helga shot him a sharp look, loaded down with sarcasm. "Oh, golly, thanks, dear. I don't know how I would've slept tonight without you confirming I don't look like 3,300 pounds of ivory blubber. You've spared me so many nights of staring up at the ceiling and thinking, 'Gee, I wonder if I look like the world's largest marine mammal.'"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "I'm still half-asleep and I was just trying to make you feel better, no need to have a cow, Helga."

"_A cow_? I think you mean a whale, Arnold—"

"Enough," he sighed, turning her gently around so he could direct her to the doorway. "Let's get you into bed."

"Wow, Arnold_, _I had no idea you had a fish fetish. I don't know what to think—"

He just shook his head at her and continued to steer her the rest of the way to their bedroom, deflecting any further quips from his exhausted wife.

* * *

><p>"<em>Holy shit, Pheebs<em>!"

"What?" Phoebe shrieked, rushing in a panicked frenzy to her best friend's side. As soon as she was beside her, she swept her eyes over her with lightning speed, searching for any signs of injury. "What is it, Helga? Is everything okay?"

"What?" Helga mumbled without looking at her, before waving her off distractedly. "Oh, yeah, it's just these prices! They're practically giving these toasters away!"

Phoebe let out the breath she was holding, her entire body drooping forward in relief. "Oh, Helga."

"No, seriously, Phoebe!" She snatched one of the boxes up off of the shelf and turned to her, holding it out for her to see. "These are high quality toasters, and they're not even going for a third of their original price! If we buy enough of these and resell them, we could make a _killing_!" She sucked in a giddy breath and bit her lip, hugging the box to her chest as her eyes flew heavenward. "Private beach house getaway, here I come!"

Phoebe stared at her, bemused. "Helga, are you sure you're okay? You've seemed a little… anxious, since we left the Sunset Arms."

"Oh, that." Helga sighed, sweeping the entire shelf of toasters into their cart. "I'm just excited. This is the first time in months I've been able to slip off the ball and chain." She theatrically rolled her eyes. "Arnold's been so overbearing lately, I swear. I feel like a teenager again, slipping around behind his back like this, and just to buy _groceries_, of all things." She turned her eyes uncomfortably away, eying a couple boxes of cereal some lazy shopper left there at some point. "I had to practically shove him out the door and deadbolt it shut to get the message across that I would be _o-kay_ while he's at his job interview. I'm sure he was five minutes away from trying to postpone it, which is ludicrous."

A long-suffering sigh tumbled out of her mouth as she took a couple steps around the cart so Phoebe could see her full-view. Extending her arms out at her sides, she looked at her skeptically. "Phoebe, I don't really look _that_ pathetic, do I? Tell me the truth."

Phoebe blinked, and warily took in her best friend's appearance. She was wearing dirty, beat up old sneakers with two pairs of extra soft white socks, and a large pink dress that fell to her knees and bulged out over her massive stomach and boobs. Her greasy blond hair was thrown into a messy ponytail that did nothing to keep her bangs from falling into her eyes, the ends wild and split and in desperate need of a trim. Just looking at her was painful.

For a long moment she just stared, before the twirling of Helga's hand reminded her she was expecting a response, and she managed a highly intelligent, "Um…"

Helga let out a moan of anguish and turned away. "Oh, forget it. Let's just get what we came here for and split before this stupid conscience Arnold cursed me with acts up anymore."

As Helga positioned herself in front of the cart and started pushing it speedily down the aisle, Phoebe had to sprint to catch up and managed to fall into pace beside her long-legged friend. She eyed the dozen or so toasters piled in the cart as they walked. "You're really going to get all those?"

"Heck yeah, I am. It's only good business. You should get some too."

"I don't know if Gerald would approve of me endeavoring on such an enterprise without consulting him first." Phoebe smiled.

Helga snorted. "You kidding? This is right up Geraldo's alley. Besides, you could use the extra money for diapers." She stopped suddenly as a thought struck her, and hesitated. Phoebe skidded to a stop once she realized her friend was no longer at her side, and turned back to look at her patiently, waiting for her to speak. Looking down at her stomach, Helga reached up to sweep her bangs out of her eyes and tried to figure out how to word her question. Finally, she looked up into Phoebe's attentive, immaculately made up face, and asked quietly, "Did Gerald… I mean, does he act half as crazy as Arnold?"

Phoebe blinked and unconsciously glided her hands down over her stomach, and the small bulge that was growing there. Already, her and Gerald had one son, who was only about eight months old now, while she was four months pregnant. Gerald didn't waste any time.

Pursing her lips a moment, Phoebe answered with a cautious tone, "Well, he was definitely excited, and very attentive, as he is now."

Helga hung her head. "But not Arnold attentive, right? I'm right, aren't I? Arnold's nuts."

Phoebe smiled sympathetically. "He just wants to protect you, Helga."

"Since when do I need protecting?" Helga threw her head back and groaned, before she started walking again with the cart. Phoebe fell easily in pace with her this time. "I'm Helga G. Pataki, for Pete's sake. Pregnancy does not change that—in fact, it should only serve as further reminder. I am _large_ and _in charge_ and—Oh my gosh, peaches are on sale?" She grabbed as many as she could and loaded them into the cart, all the while looking ready to dissolve into tears of joy any second.

Phoebe looked on in concern. In the end, she decided it was best to try to change the subject. "Helga—that is—about the baby…"

Helga snapped her head around to look at her, her eyes wild. "What about him?"

"Gerald and I were thinking about names, and we both decided we really like your middle name…"

Helga looked at her blankly. "You want to name my son Geraldine?"

Phoebe's eyes went comically wide for just a moment before she giggled a little uneasily and shook her head. "No, no, Helga, I mean Gerald and I's baby. If it happens to be a girl, we'd really like to name her…" she looked at her apprehensively, beginning to wonder if it was such a good idea to bring this up after all, "after you."

Helga stared at her.

Phoebe stared back.

Finally, Helga blinked. "Okay, let me get this straight… You and Gerald, Gerald and you, both of you crazy kids—want to name your daughter Geraldine, my middle name, my middle name that I hate with every fiber of my being and have taken considerable pains to conceal from the entire world?"

Phoebe blinked twice, quickly. "Well, I believe Gerald mainly agreed with me on it because it has Gerald in it."

Helga stared at her expressionlessly for a long moment, and then… "Well, fuck." She shook her head violently and shuddered, before beginning briskly down the aisle leading to the condiments section. Phoebe followed after her anxiously.

"Please, Helga," Phoebe tried to explain. "I've always thought it was a lovely name, and as you will be her godmother, it only seems appropriate."

"Well, hey," she began evasively, her eyes looking anywhere but at Phoebe's pleading face, "Arnold's gonna be the godfather, why don't you name her Arnoldine instead—"

"_Helga_," Phoebe sighed.

"Fine!" Helga exploded, abruptly coming to a stop just so she could wave her arms around for emphasis. "Name her Geraldodine if you want to so badly, but don't come crying to me when she complains nonstop!" Letting out a breath forceful enough that she fell over the top of her cart, her forehead resting on her arms, she muttered helplessly, "Just…" She paused, before she stood back up and looked at Phoebe with a loaded expression, heavy with meaning, and Phoebe instinctively straightened her back. "Make it a middle name, okay? At least then she can hide it if she wants."

Phoebe smiled, understanding and gratefulness softening her features. "Okay. We can do that."

Helga nodded, and then, suddenly feeling a bit awkward arguing with a short pregnant Asian woman in the midst of a bunch of baked beans in the supermarket, began walking again, hoping to appear more normal. The couple customers that had been staring out of the corner of their eyes quickly averted their eyes. Phoebe followed after her, subdued.

The two friends shopped quietly for a while, exchanging words on prices and food and little else, until finally Helga found the mustard and oatmeal and hugged them both to her chest along with a couple peaches, letting out a shuddering sigh of profound satisfaction. She felt an excited rumble in her stomach and nodded her agreement, happily nuzzling at the food in her arms. "Yes, I know, little guy, I finally have it. At long last." She gazed upon the ingredients in her arms almost lustfully, giddy with the knowledge the awful craving she'd been having all day would soon be fulfilled. Meanwhile, Phoebe looked respectfully away, feeling like she was intruding on a private moment.

After several long moments of Helga whispering sweet nothings to the food, Phoebe decided it was time to bring her back to reality, and asked gently, "Helga, I was hoping to pick up some ice cream before we go."

Helga jolted slightly, as if shocked out of a dream, and looked placidly at her over her shoulder. "Oh. Yes. Of course. Let's go." Depositing her items carefully back into the cart, she grabbed hold of the handle and gestured for Phoebe to proceed.

As they walked towards the frozen section, which was way in the back of the store, Phoebe observed Helga muttering things under her breath more than once. After a while, she heard a mutter of, "Just calm it down, we'll be home soon…" and had to ask.

"Helga, have you thought of what you're going to name him yet?"

The only observable reaction to her query was a small twitch at the side of her mouth. They walked for a short time. Just as Phoebe was beginning to wonder if she was going to ignore her altogether, Helga muttered sarcastically, "Arnoldo Jr."

At the look she received from Phoebe, she chuckled lowly and switched it up, "Or Geraldine, like you said—that's got a real ring, doesn't it? Geraldine Shortman. All the boys'll be jealous. Or, oh," she grinned, just a tad viciously, "maybe we can name him after Arnold's pet pig. Wouldn't that be lovely? Ah, who am I kidding, they're all too good to pick just one! Why don't we combine them all together? Arnoldo Geraldine Abner Shortman." She snapped her fingers and chirped, "Perfect!"

Phoebe shook her head. "Helga, I know you've been suffering with this decision, but I feel you're taking this a bit too seriously. Is there any particular reason this is such a difficult task for you?"

"Oh, what?" She dropped the act, her hands tightening on the handle of the cart. "So maybe I'm afraid I'll pick something totally horrible and he'll hate me for the rest of his life. What's your point?" She sighed, keeping her eyes stoically ahead of herself as they walked. She knew there was no point in trying to evade the subject. None of her jokes, threats or clever diversions worked on Phoebe. Plus, there was something about Phoebe that made her feel like eighty-five pounds of heaping crazy nine-year-old all over again, and one look into her inquisitive, knowing little face made it impossible not to confess all. She'd make a great mother once her kids were old enough to get into trouble, she knew. Helga sincerely wished the little bastards luck.

Phoebe looked at her sympathetically. "I don't think he'll ever be able to hate you, Helga."

Helga shot her an incredulous look. "Have you ever seen a teenager, Phoebe? He's already a rowdy little bugger, I don't even want to think about what he'll be like in his teens."

Phoebe giggled and turned her eyes ahead, reaching a hand up to straighten her hair. "Perhaps I may make a suggestion?"

"Shoot."

"Perhaps you're focusing a little too much on yourself." Helga shot her a sharp look for that, but she continued unhindered, "You're worrying too much he'll be ashamed, like you are of your middle name. It's merely a matter of perception, though. Both Arnold, Gerald and I all think you have a lovely name, for example. Likewise, whatever name you give him, there will always be someone who doesn't like it—"

"But I don't want it to be _him_, Pheebs," she pressed, gritting her teeth slightly.

Phoebe smiled at her, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Then ask him."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Already tried that. Sorry. No dice. He refuses to help."

"There's a belief," Phoebe said, folding her arms to help shelter herself a bit from the cold, "that whatever name you choose for your child will affect the person they turn out to be. Maybe you could use that as a guide? What do you want him to be like?"

The wheel of their cart jumped and skittered as they passed by the frozen peas and corn, causing an unpleasant rattling sound that everyone ignored. At length, after a short pause for thought, Helga replied, "Strong. I want him to be strong, and brave, like his father." Phoebe nodded at her, encouraging her to keep going. "I don't want him to take any crap, or let anyone walk all over him, though. I want him to be… smart about things."

Phoebe smiled warmly. "Anything else?"

Helga took a few moments to think, before an almost dreamy look drifted over her profile as a smile gently curved the sides of her mouth. Her voice came out in a near-whisper, like this was a secret she didn't want anyone else to overhear, "Kind. I want him to be kind, like Arnold. Kind and considerate, and thoughtful. With a… good, generous nature." Biting her lip to hold back a sudden swell of emotion, she shook her head, bangs swinging, and rushed out in a strained voice, "I don't want him to be anything like me, Phoebe. I don't want him to ever feel like he has to hide himself, or run away from things. I don't want him to be afraid, ever, of anyone or anything."

Sucking in a sharp breath, she stopped suddenly and looked tearfully down at her stomach, gripping the cart tight enough to make her knuckles go white. She whispered fiercely, "You hear that, little guy? I'm not going to let anyone ever hurt you. Never, ever. It doesn't matter what we name you, you're perfect." She froze suddenly as it dawned on her. She was unable to move for a long second, stricken as she was, before a glow began in her eyes as she murmured, "Perfect… You're perfect. No matter what your name is." She sniffled, smiling with a look of pure joy.

Phoebe bit her lip to keep from crying herself and hastily dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, careful not to smudge her make up.

"Oh… God." She looked up excitedly, grinning at Phoebe, her blue eyes positively luminous beneath bright, scraggly blonde bangs. "I've got to tell Arnold."

And just like that she gasped in pain, and fell back against a large display of cheeses, knocking half of them off the table. Phoebe looked at her in alarm, her eyes bulged, too shocked to speak.

Harold decided this would be a good time to show up out of nowhere and grin at them both. "Hey, guys! Funny running into you here, I—" His eyes came to rest on the deep cringe on Helga's face, and then down to the puddle that had just appeared out of nowhere, and was quickly spreading out across the linoleum floors. "Oh… Oh, oh, I did _not_ need to see that—"

Phoebe finally managed to make a sound, but it was but a squeak. Then at last, she blurted out, "Helga, your water broke!"

Just then a contraction hit, and Helga's face contorted just a split-second before she threw her head back and unleashed an ear-shattering scream.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, all the way across town…<p>

"Well, your resume is very impressive, sir. I can't seem to read your last name here, however…"

"It's Shortman," Arnold supplied, smiling at him kindly. "Arnold Shortman."

Principal Bartlett smiled widely at him. "Well, Mr. Shortman, I can't go solely off of paperwork. Tell me about yourself. Why do you want to be a teacher here at old P.S. 118?"

"I came here as a kid," Arnold explained, the fond twinkle in his eye already recommending him greatly to the principal. "I've always loved the school, and have always been passionate about helping people. For a long time I didn't know what to do with that passion, but one day when I was passing by the old lot where the fourth graders play, it just clicked. Children are our future, and what happens to them when they're young really affects the person they grow up to be. I want to head off negativity at the source, and educate our children not only on the subjects that will help them through adulthood, but also the correct way to behave and treat each other."

Principal Bartlett blinked at him, taken aback, before the wide smile from before came back full force. "Well, that's quite the speech. How can I say no to that?"

Arnold looked at him hopefully. "So I've got the job?"

Principal Bartlett beamed. "I'd say—"

Just then a piercing ring split Arnold's eardrums in two and made every muscle in his body tense up and violently jolt. It felt like his soul had just been set on fire. The next thing Arnold knew he was out of his chair and on the floor, holding his head in his hands in pure agony, groaning. Going by appearance only, it looked as if he'd just suffered a seizure.

Principal Bartlett stood up in alarm and leaned forward over his desk to look at him, shocked. "Mr. Shortman, are you okay? Do I need to call you a doctor?"

Arnold's eyes popped open at that and he sprung up, his jaw dropping. His eyes watered and he coughed a little, feeling sick to his stomach, and yet he looked up at what he hoped to be his future boss with the most jubilant, ecstatic expression the man had ever seen. "I'm going to have a baby."

He looked down at him with his eyebrows knit and mouth in a straight line, blinking. "Are you trying to tell me you're going to give birth, sir?"

Arnold didn't appear to have heard what he'd said, or to even see him, really. He just pushed himself up off of the floor and grabbed him by the hand with his eyes glassy with tears, and a grin that spread full across his wide football shaped head. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bartlett, but we're going to have to pick this up later. I'm going to be a dad!" He burst into a watery laugh and then all but ran from the room, not bothering to shut the door on his way out.

Principal Bartlett stared at the door for a long moment, confounded, before falling gracelessly back into his chair. He scratched his head. "Of all the strange things I've seen…" After staring ahead of himself a few moments, he shrugged and reached for his approval stamp. "I've seen crazier. He's got the job."

"Principal Bartlett," a deep voice came from the doorway, distracting Mr. Bartlett from his purpose. He looked up, and came to see a very skinny, tall orange-haired man in the doorway, with dark green eyes and a crisp black business suit.

Mr. Bartlett leaned back in his chair and offered a welcoming smile, gesturing for him to sit. "Hello, how may I help you?"

The man came across the room and sat down, calmly. He didn't even blink. "I'm here for the fourth grade teaching position."

The principal blinked in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. I already gave the position—"

The man held his hand up. "No. Protocol says you must interview me as well before you make any decisions. I called ahead. I was sent in. I'm here." He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick stack of papers all stapled together, and placed them down on the desk before him. He sat back in his seat then and folded his hands in his lap, smiling only faintly, as if the effort gave him pain. "Interview me."

Principal Bartlett stared at the large stack on his desk, and leaned forward to see the words "Resume" in large, intimidating print on the very first, front page. Blinking, he shifted his eyes up to look at the man. He tried for a smile, but it came out small and hesitant. "All right… May I ask your name?"

Once again, he did not blink. "Nicholas. Nicholas L. O. Deon." His smile twitched. "But please, call me Nick."

* * *

><p>"Oh, sweet Heavenly creation, <em>I am going to die!<em>"

"Helga, you're doing fine—"

"No, I'm not, you don't understand! I'm going to keel over right here, this is the end and—Oh _holy shit_, you little bastard, to think I was speaking so lovingly of you not four hours ago—"

"Helga, I promise you, it'll all be over soon, you just have to keep pushing."

"Don't you tell me what to do, you football headed pipsqueak! I oughta pound you into the ground and never let you touch me again for all the good you've done me! Some sweet, gentle little love god you've turned out to be! And _you_," she turned her feral eyes down onto the doctor who was trembling between her legs, "what kind a doctor are you? Where'd you get your degree? Crackhead University?"

The doctor burst into tears. "Yes! Yes, it's true! I'm a terrible doctor! I only became one because my parents pressured me into it!" He openly sobbed, shaking his head rapidly to try to clear his eyes of the tears so he could see what he was doing.

Arnold hid a grimace. "That's… Okay. Look, Helga." He turned his head back to her and grabbed her hand in both of his, stroking it as soothingly as he could and pressing a kiss to her fingers. "Everything is going to be fine. We're going to have a beautiful baby boy and all of this will just be nothing but a memory. This is only the beginning—"

"Only the beginning?" Helga screeched in horrified indignation, causing the doctor and all the nurses to wince.

Arnold leaned closer and shushed her, leaning his forehead against the side of her head. "Shhh, shh, I didn't mean it like that. I mean we are going to have a beautiful family, and a white fence and grass and birds and anything else you want. We're going to be a family, you, me, and our son. You just have to keep pushing. Push for our future, Helga. You've never been one to give under pressure, you're too strong for that, and that's why I love you. That's what you need to do, Helga. Be the woman I love. Push."

Tears streamed down Helga's cheeks as she stared at him with a strained, wide-eyed expression. "You… You… Damn it, shut the fuck up! You infuriating man, stop being perfect and _let me hate you_!" She screamed out the last part as she gave another hard push, putting all of her heart and soul into it, and the next thing either one knew, there was a sharp cry echoing across the walls.

The doctor hastily handed the baby over to the nurse and yanked his gloves off so he could wipe the tears of relief from his eyes, still struggling to quell his loud sobs.

Helga, in her exhausted, heavily-breathing state, managed one final offense. Plucking a bobby pin out from her hair that Phoebe had put in on the way here to keep her bangs out of her face, she threw it at him and managed to get it lodged into his nostril. The doctor yelped and burst into an entirely new round of tears, before running from the room to scream his resignation through the halls.

She fell back against the pillows as soon as he'd left and threw her head back, already half passed out. Arnold stared at her in awe for a couple seconds that felt more like centuries, before he slowly turned his head, feeling like it was suddenly made of taffy, and looked at the startled nurse holding his son in her arms.

Finally, she snapped out of whatever stupor she'd been put under by the last four hours and smiled nervously at Arnold, holding the newborn closer. "Um, I'll just go clean him up and be right back." She turned to walk out the door.

Helga managed to peek through the led that had become her eyelids and lift a weak hand in the woman's direction, her voice hoarse as she mumbled, "After her… Follow that heartless bitch."

Arnold could do nothing but obey.

* * *

><p>When Arnold walked through the doors of the delivery room and into the hall, he was in a haze. Everything appeared dream-like and surreal, and he could hardly seem to catch his breath. So naturally having Gerald, Phoebe and Harold all jump on him with questions left and right startled him a bit.<p>

"How is she? Is everything okay?"

"Hey, man, how did you survive all that shouting? We could hear her screams all the way from the _outside_!"

"A doctor came running out crying and holding his nose, what the heck was that about—"

"Guys, guys," Arnold said tiredly, gesturing his hands out for them to calm down. "Calm down. Helga's fine, she did great. I was deaf the entire time I was in there, so I couldn't hear anything, and as for the doctor—No comment. Gerald," he looked at him purposely, making Gerald's eyes widen, "did a nurse pass by here? And can you follow her? She has our son and Helga wanted me to go after her, but I can't leave her, not after all that. Keep an eye, make sure everything's okay?" He looked at him anxiously.

Gerald chuckled at the grievous look on his face and nodded, patting him swiftly on the back before beginning down the hall. He spoke over his shoulder, "No prob, I'll go catch up with her and make sure she doesn't pull any funny business. You attend to your wife." He shot a finger off his forehead and turned to sprint down the hall, chuckling all the while. "Ah, first timers."

Still a bit out of it, Arnold turned his head to look at Harold. His face twisted into a look of vague confusion, his eyes hazed. "Not that you're not welcome, Harold, but why exactly are you here again?"

He looked even more lost than he was, on top of deeply disturbed. "I have no idea."

* * *

><p>She didn't know how much time had passed. Neither did Arnold.<p>

Every second felt like an hour, and the harder they stared at the door, willing it to open, the less likely it seemed it ever would.

So the two new parents held onto each other instead, and breathed silently against each other, trying to forget time existed.

After a while, Helga heard his breathing spike and managed to whisper, trying to distract him, "You don't have to worry about me anymore."

He opened his eyes just enough to look at her questioningly.

She smiled, small though it was. "You know, you've been staring at me with those big green puppy dog eyes of yours for months now—now that it's all over, you can relax."

He stared at her, before he lightly shook his head. "I'll always worry about you, Helga. I just don't want anything to happen to you. Or our son."

She flicked her eyes away, frowning. "I don't need protecting, Arnold. I'm fine. Really. Save it for the baby."

In a completely opposite reaction to her speech than she intended, his brow only seemed to wrinkle all the more, and she winced at his unhappy response, "Helga, we're family now, you're my wife. I know you're used to being independent, but you're not alone anymore." He tightened his hold around her shoulders. "You need to let me care about you."

She swallowed a little, her mouth suddenly feeling a little dry. "I know, it's just… You seem so stressed lately, I don't want to be another burden on you, and if you could just let up a little…" She bit her lip.

He paused. And then his shoulders drooped, his entire body resting limply against her. She didn't mind. "I'm sorry. I guess I've just been a little afraid." He made a small imperceptible shake of his head. "You could never be a burden to me, Helga. Please know that."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the light overhead. "What are you afraid of?"

He met her gaze bashfully, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, as if he were embarrassed to admit this. "It seems a little too good to be true, I guess. I just wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. I still want that. I want you to always be safe."

Her eyes shone, before she looked hastily away and blinked her eyes furiously. "Okay. Husband or not, if you make me cry before the baby does, I will punch you." He laughed.

At long last, the door was heard opening, and they both snapped their heads around in time to see the nurse walking cautiously towards them, a small blue bundle in her arms.

Immediately Helga gave a small cry and held her arms out. The nurse flinched, but at seeing the pleading, desperate look on the woman's face, she softened and stepped forward.

Arnold stepped out of the way so she could come to stand beside Helga's bed and place the newborn into her arms. The small woman spoke gently to Helga as she handed him over, "You need to support the head and—there. Just like that. You're a natural." Carefully, she extracted her arms and smiled at her, happy to see the terrifying woman had such a soft side. She had been afraid she would make a horrible mother, but it seemed she was being proved wrong very fast, and was relieved for it.

Indeed, Helga was staring in awe of the tiny creature supported in her arms. He was looking up at her with the biggest, bluest eyes she had ever seen, with pale skin and an unruly patch of sunshine hair on his head. He looked so innocent and pure in her arms like that, cocooned in a soft blue blanket, and she couldn't fathom how such a perfect little angel was the evil creature that had been kicking her in the stomach all these months.

She spoke softly, her vision blurring from the tears gathering in her eyes, "Why, you're not a bastard at all." She giggled, feeling more out of her mind than she had in all her twenty-three years, and utterly incandescently happy about it. She exhaled unsteadily and gently shook her head, unable to take her eyes off of him. "Oh, criminy, I can't believe those were the first words I ever spoke to you. I'm a real basket case." Her son tilted his head at her and blinked. He looked just as in awe of her as she was of him, and the thought of that made it impossible not to choke on a sob.

Arnold stepped forward again after the nurse walked away. As soon as he leaned over the bed to look at him, his son shifted his eyes on him, and Arnold forgot to breathe. The first moment of eye contact between father and son is a very telling thing, and the moment Arnold looked into his little boy's eyes, he knew that he was lost.

Arnold gulped and finally managed to inhale a large gust of air, just in time for tears to prick his eyes. "Oh, Helga, he's perfect."

Helga giggled again, and wondered for a brief moment if she'd ever be able to do anything but giggle ever again. "I know. Oh, criminy, Arnold, I know." She leaned forward slightly and nuzzled his small puff of hair with her nose, feeling like her face was going to break if she smiled even a millimeter more. She whimpered, "Just like his father. He's perfect." The baby turned his head up to try to look at her, his mouth in a small 'o.'

Arnold gave a short laugh that came out as nothing but sputtering puffs of breath. "Just like his father? Helga, he looks just like you."

She shook her head, refusing to move her head from it's spot. She'd swear to it for years to come—he smelled like Arnold. He smelled just like him. She breathed softly. "It's too soon to tell. He's got your hair, though… Your ridiculous hair." She laughed quietly. "That's already apparent."

Arnold gulped again and leaned even closer than before, his spread hands supporting him on the bed as he looked on, emotion heavy in his expression. "Can… Can I hold him?"

Helga's eyes popped open in horror at the idea of letting him go, but one look up into Arnold's wide-eyed, vulnerable face made her realize this was just as important to him as it was to her. Taking quick breaths in and out, like she'd learned in class, she mentally whipped herself and held her arms out for him to take him.

Arnold stared down at him in shock for a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to comply, before he shot her a grateful look and carefully took the baby from her arms. Once again, he found himself holding his breath as he adjusted the babe in his arms, all the while staring into his wide, mystified blue eyes. Helga reached up to tuck the blanket a little tighter as he did, and he swallowed, not even realizing he was grinning. Task complete, Helga sat back in the bed and watched them, her two men, and felt an enchanted look drift across her face. They looked so happy together, like they belonged, and they were all hers. She felt tears run silently down her cheeks as she looked on, unable and unwilling to tear her eyes away.

Arnold felt himself swaying a little subconsciously as he stared, just stared, not knowing what else to do. His son was looking at him so intently, and he found himself wondering what was going through his mind—what he was feeling—if babies could even think. But most of all, he wondered if he had any idea how much he loved him already, before he'd even gotten to know him.

He decided he should know, so, quietly, he whispered, "You don't need to silence nature to make your birth a miracle. You're perfect just as you are." He kissed his forehead, and was struck by how soft and undamaged the skin there was. He smiled a little, trembling. "My little boy… I won't let anything ever happen to you. I'll never leave you. I will always be here, rain or shine. Always." He managed to adjust it so he could reach a hand up and stroke his hair back, marveling at how his eyelids fluttered. "I promise." His son yawned and leaned against him, his eyes fluttering shut. Arnold could only stare, enraptured, a sudden lump in his throat that he couldn't speak over.

After a while, when he felt he could look away, or breathe, or remember that there was a world outside of pale blue blankets and tiny faces, he looked up at his wife and was both endeared and disappointed to find she was fast asleep. There was a smile on her face that gratified him, though, and he took his time with dragging a chair over so he could sit at her side and hold their son while they both slept off the harrowing experience that was child birth, and then…

He lost track of time.

* * *

><p>Helga drifted in and out of a dead sleep, never once opening her eyes, though a couple times she was aware that she was conscious for a half second before she fell back into the abyss.<p>

Finally, consciousness actually lasted long enough for her to have time to think, and the memory of wide blue eyes pierced through her mind and made her eyes fly open.

In a sudden panic, she snapped her head around to look for her husband and baby, but calmed down when she made eye contact with her husband. He was sitting beside her, his eyes wide and face unusually pale in the dim light. Lowering her gaze a little, she saw her son likewise staring at her, his little jaw slack and face even chubbier and more precious than she remembered. A tremulous smile lit up her features.

Arnold seemed to relax after seeing her smile, and even managed to offer one of his more stable ones back. He seemed reluctant, but after a couple moments asked, "Do you want to hold him again, Mrs. Shortman?"

Helga snorted and held her arms out eagerly. "Doi."

He chuckled warmly and stood from his chair so he could lean over and carefully place the small bundle into her arms. It was the second time she'd gotten to hold her son, but it felt like the first time all over again, and she found all she could do for a long time was stare dumbly into his smiling, happy little face.

Blinking, she asked, "What did you do to make him smile like that?"

Arnold settled back into his chair and scooted closer to the bed, before relaxing back into it and smiling one of those quiet, secretive little smiles he had. You know the ones, the ones that made Helga want to simultaneously punch his lights out and kiss him senseless. "I just told him a story."

Somehow, she didn't know how, she managed to tear her eyes away from her son's face long enough to look at her husband inquiringly. "A story about what?"

He smirked slightly. "Just what an incredible woman his mother is."

Helga tried to glare at him for having such a cheeky look on his face while he said that, but it was weak at best and she knew it. She didn't care. She smiled. "You made sure to inform him that she is utterly void of flaws and absolutely amazing in every way, I'm sure?"

Arnold bobbed his head once. "Naturally."

"And that she takes lip from no one so he shouldn't ever try to go against her?"

"Of course."

"Very good then." Helga smirked. "I'm pleased with your work, soldier. You shall live another day."

He nodded his head solemnly. "I thank you."

A small giggle rang out suddenly that came from neither parent, and they both snapped their eyes down to see their son giggling at them, his eyes scrunched and twinkling. Both parents melted.

"His first laugh," Arnold mumbled.

Helga made a small nod. "And it was at our expense… That's not a good sign at all, is it?"

"I think it means he's got a little Helga in him." He smirked, shifting forward in his chair so he could lean over on the bed and get a better look at him. His look was dreamy and warm as he asked, unthinking, "What are we gonna call him?"

Helga's eyes widened, and then lit up, and she looked over at him with a blithe, joy-filled expression. "Oh, Arnold… Don't you see?" He blinked at her, and she took it as a sign of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, she excitedly declared, "The name doesn't matter! All that matters is that we love him." She beamed.

He stared at her. "Helga, that's a lovely sentiment, but we need something to call him."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, amazed at how adept he was at missing the point, before she chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I know that, numbskull. I just—" She huffed, still overwhelmed with amusement. "Oh, forget it. Let me think." The baby giggled again, and Helga looked at him with a surprised smile, her eyes suddenly bursting with adoration.

She stared down at their son for time she didn't bother to count, watching rapt as he looked between her and his father, that laughing, mischievous little smile still on his face. A dozen names flew through her mind in that moment as she watched him, but in the end only one really stuck in her mind, and she found herself speaking almost out of instinct, "Zachary. Zachary Taylor Shortman."

Arnold shot his eyes to her, surprised. "The president?"

She nodded, a small smile spreading across her face. "Yes. I've been doing a lot of research on him for my book, Arnold, and I've gotta say, the man was a real badass. Brave, and strong, and always ready at a moment's notice to fight for his country. I want our son to be like that, in a way—brave, like you, and willing to stand up for himself and the family." Pausing a moment, she licked her lips before reciting, "He once said, 'I shall pursue a straight forward course deviating neither to the right or left so that comes what may I hope my real friends will never have to blush for me, so far as truth, honesty & fair dealings are concerned.'" She looked at Arnold meaningfully. "That's what I want for our son." Arnold stared at her, touched.

She frowned slightly then, and looked away. "He did own slaves, though."

Arnold smiled a little sadly. "A lot of people did back then, Helga."

"I know… He was the last in office to own them, though, so I'd like to think of it more as a metaphor for the beginning of the end of a very dark time, as that is what I would like to think of our son as… I don't really want to name him Abraham Lincoln or anything anyway." She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, and completely missing the look of thoughtfulness that passed over Arnold's features when the name was mentioned. She went on in a tone made of air, "Besides, the more I think about it, the more I like it… Zachary." She held him up slightly, looking on his flushed, happy little face with pride. "Zachary _T_. Shortman. It sounds good, doesn't it?"

Arnold smiled widely, gazing at their son with all the love in the world. "It really does. I like it." He paused a moment. "Zachary… Zachary Taylor." He pursed his lips, tasting the name on his tongue, before he tried, "Zach. Zach Shortman." He grinned. "I really do. I like it."

Helga beamed back at him, hugging their son to her chest. "Zachary it is then!"

Zach giggled, and both parents took it as a sign of approval.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Nine years later<strong>_

"And just where do you think you're going, young man?"

Zack froze in the doorway, one foot out the door and a hand on the door handle.

Helga towered over him with her hands on her hips, casting him almost completely in shadow. She looked, lips pursed, between her son and the half-open door several times, affronted, and put a possessive hand on the door. He didn't turn to look at her. "Is there any particular reason you were trying to leave…" the severe look on her face broke suddenly, and she grinned, "without giving your mother a hug?"

Zack snapped his head around to look up at her, his big blue eyes hidden behind a thick pair of pitch black sunglasses. He brought his leg back out of the door and turned to her, his hands fumbling behind his back as he looked down at the floor. "I was just gonna go out to Gerald Field to play with the other kids. I told Dad."

Helga tilted her head down at him. "That's very good, Zack, but it doesn't explain why you thought it was okay to just leave for the entire afternoon without first hugging your poor, lonely mom." She slouched forward, frowning dramatically. "I do feel so neglected sometimes."

He just stared down at the floor. Finally, after a moment he took a step forward, and Helga dropped down to her knee and held her arms out for him. He obediently put his arms around her and lightly squeezed. She hugged him back with a little more enthusiasm, and peppered the top of his head with kisses. For a split second, she felt his hold get almost painfully tight, and his fingers dug into her back, but then it was over and he was pulling back.

Helga obligingly pulled her arms back, but grumbled under her breath while she did it, trying to make him smile at her. He pursed his lips at her instead, with those ridiculous glasses of his, and she raised an eyebrow at him in genuine curiosity, bemused. "What's the glasses for, huh, Slick? You trying to look cool?"

Zack snorted and nodded his head rapidly, putting a hand lightly on the edge of the glasses. "Oh, yeah, they're all the rage, I hear. You… You know me, always gotta keep up with the hottest fashions." He bit the inside of his cheek.

She smirked at him, her eyes half-mast. "Take them off for me, will ya? I wanna see those big beautiful eyes of yours one more time before you abandon me."

Zack paused a moment, before he nodded and took the glasses off, revealing one dark ocean blue eye… and one black eye patch. He offered her a tiny smile in response to the surprised look on her face, and muttered, abashed, "Uh… We're playing pirate ship today. It's mandatory." She blinked a couple times and opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it, "I'm gonna have to ask you not to tell me to take it off, ma'am, what you'll see underneath is not a pretty sight."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "_Of course_. How inconsiderate of me." Shaking her head at his antics, she stood up from the floor and opened the door for him, gesturing impassively for him to go. "Well, you'd better set sail then, if you want to make it there before dawn."

Zack placed his sunglasses back on with rapid speed and saluted her, before rushing out the door. Helga stared after him for a long time, just watching his blue and blond body get smaller and smaller the farther away he ran.

Large hands slid down over her shoulders. A soothing, warm presence had appeared directly behind her, and she didn't have to turn to know who it was. She wasn't sure she could have, anyway. Arnold hugged her to his front, smiling as Zack disappeared around a corner before shutting the door. Helga allowed him to do so, but still kept her eyes locked to the same spot where, beyond all the doors and walls and brownstone, she knew he'd fled off to.

Her husband kissed the side of her head and warmly muttered, the words falling like hot molasses over her ears, as he had apparently been witness to the exchange, "He's just like you, you know. Just like his mother." He breathed in her hair.

Helga just stared at the door. "Yeah… Just like his mother."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** HOLY TITANIUM HIPBONES, BATMAN, THAT'S GOTTA BE THE FLUFFIEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE *Sets keyboard ablaze*

And, just... omg. Principal Bartlett and Nicholas L. O. Deon… I am a horrible person. XD

SO anyway, I know newborns usually have their eyes, like, closed, or whatever, but I decided to go with cartoon logic here since it's more fun (Arnold came out perfectly clean and _giggling_, for example, LOL), _and_ because according to my mom newborn children IRL are ugly as _hell_… Except for me, I was born fabulous with a purple silk-crushed sombrero and rainbow sparkles. ;D

No.

But anywho, I really felt like this was long overdue. xD I might do one for each, I really have no idea. This was written relatively quickly, but that doesn't mean it was easy. XD Nothing ever is nowadays. e_e

I have a dentist appointment today. D: Which basically translates into: I'M GOING TO BE SHEDDING TEN YEARS OFF MY LIFE TODAY. YES, YES, JOLLY GOOD. WON'T THAT BE FUN, YES, NOT EXCRUCIATING AT ALL. MEH. I basically wrote this because it's the only joy I'll probably be getting out of today. XD So if you liked even the tiniest bit of this piece of amphibian dog sh!te... won't you tell me, dear? :3

IF YOU DON'T REVIEW, I WILL BAWL LIKE A DOCTOR.

Just kidding! :'D

Or am I? D:

**Other delightful quotes from Zachary Taylor:** "I have no private purpose to accomplish, no party objectives to build up, no enemies to punish—nothing to serve but my country."

"It eminently becomes a government like our own, founded on the morality and intelligence of its citizens and upheld by their affections, to exhaust every resort of honorable diplomacy before appealing to arms."

"It would be judicious to act with magnanimity towards a prostrate foe."

"The ladies love the brow."

Ow.

_**REVIEW!**_


	23. Breathing Slowly: Part 3

**A/N: **Freaking migraine city. _MIGRAINE CITY_..._ DO YOU HEAR ME, GUISE? DO YOU FEEL THAT? CAN YOU SENSE MY ETERNAL ANGUISH AND ENDLESS FRUSTRATION? MY HEAD HAS BEEN POUNDING FOR A WEEK NOW AND IT WON'T STOP. IT. WON'T. STOP.  
><em>

I'M NOT EVEN GONNA SAY ANYTHING MORE THAN THAT, OKAY. JUST READ IT AND ENJOY, GOSH DARN IT.

Oh, and of course:

**~Lovely Human Beings~  
><strong>

**Conor Dachisen**

**metalheadrailfan**

**Panfla**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**Jamesbondfan2016**

**Anonymous Latina**

**Myriamj**

**TheMish**

**Lionheart**

**Isabella Pataki**

**ShiningEmerald0**

**unusual individual**

**Dudtheman**

**amielouisegarland17**

Thank you soooo much, guys *Heart* Wouldn't still be here if it weren't for you.

**Disclaimer:** I pretty much just... own... everything. Except the things I don't. Those are Craig's. Obviously. OH, and Kori Johanssen belongs to the incredible **xxP00h67chu**! :D I had so much fun with her here, holy crap. xD I hope she's all right.

_ALSO_ special thanks to **btweenthesilentlines** on Tumblr for giving me some insulting nicknames for Phil! XD It's the most creative one in here. The rest are just general stupid things like "Dork" and variations on "Shortman." 'Cause I suck like that. :P Thank you!

**Note: **Proooooooolly gonna be editing this later. :P I'm just so sick of looking at it... Ugh.

* * *

><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 3**

_"These days are strange, it's true._

_There's nothing that I would change, no mistakes that I'd undo."_

—**_Sum 41_**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Still two years in the past<strong>_

"Mr. Shortman?"

Phil lifted his head slightly from the nest he'd made in his arms. His eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"

A few kids burst into snickers. Mrs. Freitag looked less than amused, and cast a warning look to the rest of the class. Eyes narrowing back on her intended target, her voice came with a hint of a threat, "The answer, to what we've been talking about for the last twenty minutes…?"

Phil blinked and shifted his eyes to the board for some clue of what she was blathering on about. There was a long series of numbers there and he let out an impatient sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. After a short moment of calculations, he lightly stated, "Six," and dared her with lifted eyebrows to tell him he was wrong.

Mrs. Freitag stared at him for a long moment. Whether it was for dramatic effect, to take a moment to gather her thoughts, or just some poor attempt at intimidating him, he would never know. Or care, for that matter. Mrs. Freitag was not a particularly robust woman, nor was she what someone might label as petite. She was somewhere in the middle, and almost looked like a child herself—short, wide-headed, and platinum-haired, with a few pounds worth of baby fat still to lose. She could be holding a knife to his throat and he wouldn't feel the least bit threatened, so if she thought she could get his knees knocking by trying to stare a hole through him, she'd have to guess again.

At long last, she turned back to the board with the words, "Yes, good," and wiped the board clean. She didn't sound very enthusiastic.

Phil exhaled through his nose and laid his head back down, focusing his eyes back on the wall. "Of course it was," he muttered. He didn't know what she'd expected. He'd been in her class for weeks, and he knew she had to have looked into his file by now. She'd seen all his extra credit summer work, she'd seen the advanced classwork he'd done the last couple of years, she'd seen how close behind his genius aunt's record he was. Heck, she'd been paid to keep quiet about the whole stupid thing almost the second he was transferred—she knew _very well_ that he wasn't stupid enough to fall for her tricks, so why she kept goading him on was beyond him. He huffed, free hand fiddling with the corner of his textbook. This… All of this was starting to get really old.

He didn't even _need_ to be here. He understood that being miserable in a room full of imbeciles was vital to his future, but all he did when he was here was sit bored while he listened to a jerky teacher recount all the useless information he'd already had literally _pounded_ into his head over the summer. Because God forbid he ever be in want of knowing every microscopic detail about kidneys, how volcanoes worked, or what year Columbus scratched his butt. These were important things to know, especially for someone in _his_ field. He rolled his eyes.

A formality; little markings and checkmarks that needed to be on his paperwork so he could get into some ritzy, English, business college when he turned eighteen—or sixteen, if his grandpa could help it. That was all this was. Never mind the fact that he hated being here. Never mind that he could actually feel himself losing brain cells when he overheard other kids' conversations. Never mind that he could be at home doing things that actually mattered instead. No, none of that meant anything to Big Bob, who, by the way, hadn't been exceptional at anything when he was his age, actually _chose_ not to attend college and still did a fantastic job in both beginning and expanding his business, so why he was pushing this so hard was beyond him.

He released another long sigh and absently tapped his fingers against the desk, willing the bell to ring. "Come on already," he whispered.

Mrs. Freitag turned and pointedly addressed him, as if she'd just been laying in wait for him to do something she didn't like. "Mr. Shortman, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

He didn't waste a glance on her. "If I did, I would have," he grumbled.

Her voice lowered to the point it almost sounded masculine, "What was that?"

There was a silence, where everyone stared at him, all movement either paused or slowed from the building tension.

Finally, he raised his voice just enough for everyone to hear, "If I did, I would have."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, dangerously. She rephrased, "Do you have a problem then? Anything you're having trouble with—"

He jolted up suddenly and scowled at her. "Other than the fact you keep calling me out? Don't you have an entire class to put to sleep? Can't you do your job for five stinking minutes without trying to humiliate me in front of everyone?"

"Ooooh," a few girls behind him chorused. He snapped around to look at them, startled.

"Young man," the teacher's voice jerked him back into the present moment, and the sight of her reddened face scrunched and eyes narrowed sent his stomach turning. "You are aware why you are in my classroom, correct?"

"Uh, because I_—_"

"Interrupting class, talking back, never respecting authority; time and time again, willfully ignoring_—_"

"Look, if this is about the time I corrected Mr. Walter's spelling and he flipped out, I have a good excuse. He was wrong!"

Mrs. Freitag stamped her foot, startling him into silence. "I will not allow this! You are in my class now, and you _will_ behave, so help me_—_" She took a deep breath before continuing. "Since you're still new to our classroom, I'll let you off with a warning, but know that once you get into the fifth grade they won't let you off so easily. So you had better start learning..." She squinted her eyes at him.

Phil stared at her for a long moment, before rolling his eyes to the side. "Uh-huh…" That was exactly what all of his other teachers had said in the past. _We'll let you off now, but next year—and the next—and the next, they won't allow this… _His eyelids lowered. But they always did. His grades were far too high for them to ever even consider expelling him. Not to mention his dad worked just a few doors down and everyone naturally _adored_ him. No one wanted to give the kind, miracle-working Mr. Arnold Shortman any trouble, so they dealt with his misfit son quietly, usually by throwing him at a different teacher and high-tailing it the other direction. He was particularly bitter of his most recent classroom switch, because it meant he had to deal with Mrs. Interrupts-the-class-all-on-her-own-then-blames-th e-kid Freitag, and the always menacing—

A pencil suddenly jabbed into the back of his neck as a voice whispered fiercely, "Don't even think about talking back again, you moron, I'm not missing recess again on your behalf." Her breath hit him harshly on the back of his neck, frigid. He shivered.

"Don't tell me what to do," he hissed over his shoulder, glaring in her general direction.

"Stop needing to be told," she hissed back, jabbing him again, harder than before.

He grimaced and clenched his fists on top of his desk, glaring at them. "Don't kill her, don't kill her, don't kill her…" he chanted through clenched teeth.

Mercy scoffed.

"That's enough," Mrs. Freitag trilled, leveling her glare on Phil. "No more interruptions!"

"Yeah, Phil, can't you go five measly seconds without flipping your lid? Geez," a bald kid two rows over snorted. Everyone snickered.

Phil snapped a look on him. "Didn't you hear the lady, Voldermort? No more interruptions." He wagged his finger at him, his forefinger on his other hand coming up to rest on lips. Bald Kid's jaw dropped.

"That is enough," Mrs. Freitag yelled, emphasizing each word as it's own sentence as she looked sharply between the two boys. "Do you want to get sent into the Principal's office?"

Both boys clammed up. "No, ma'am," they both mumbled, one more quietly than the other. Mrs. Freitag continued to glare at them regardless of their acquiescence, because that was just what she did, before slowly beginning to turn back to the board.

Phil mumbled a sharp, "Didn't have to yell," under his breath. Her unnaturally hawkish ears somehow managed to pick it up.

She instantly snapped back around. "I did not yell," Mrs. Freitag yelled, slapping a stern, almost wild look on him as her arms stiffened at her sides. "I merely raised my voice!"

Phil's bottom lip protruded as he stared down at his textbook. When he didn't respond with a snarky comeback this time and continued to pout, Mrs. Freitag jotted this down as a victory and turned back to the board to write down more preposterously long trick equations that would be near impossible to solve by way of celebration. Phil slowly dragged his eyes up from his textbook to make sure she was occupied, before breathing vengefully to her back, "Yeller."

At long last, the bell rang for recess and everyone mentally cheered and burst into tears of joy. Outwardly, they calmly gathered their things and walked – _sprinted, skipped, back flipped_ – out of the classroom. Phil breathed a sigh of relief and jumped out of his desk, grabbed his backpack, and began out of the room.

"Oh, Mr. Shortman," Mrs. Freitag called him back, and he halted with a mental groan. "Your grandfather asked me to sign you up for the advanced work so that means I'm going to have to give you extra math and history homework before you go."

Phil spun around and stared at her in surprise. "What? But I'm not—"

A pile of books was suddenly thrust into his arms. Mrs. Freitag smiled down at him, her hands going to her hips. "That's a conversation to be having with him, not me. Just be sure to complete the first ten pages of that by tomorrow, okay?" He opened his mouth to respond, but she'd already turned and walked back over to her desk. "Excellent. Happy to hear it."

He growled quietly in the pit of his throat, his arms shaking a little under the weight of the irritatingly large stack of books. Pivoting around, he stomped over to his desk and threw the books down, before storming – in the most silent, dignified manner, of course – towards the door; grumbling, "I'm gonna murder him," under his breath all the while.

Preoccupied as he was with being on a rampage, he made the mistake of walking straight through the door without checking to see if the coast was clear first, and as a result only had a half-second for his brain to process that he was falling. Fast.

He threw his arms out to catch himself, but still ended up bashing the side of his head against the floor. A sharp pain shot up along his skull like a jolt of electricity and he cried out.

He stayed there a moment as he waited for the pain to pass before shifting, trying to right himself even as he felt like he was trapped under a rock, which he kind of was. His backpack was heavy, and it was a little difficult to move at first, but he managed it. Once upright and rubbing at the sore spot on his head, he was finally of a mind to process the sound of laughter coming from behind him. His eyes narrowed.

_Girls._

"That's for not listening to me," Mercy laughed, high-fiving Georgia.

"Yeah," she added in her usual bland voice, though she was smiling faintly, eyes gleaming.

Adalynn shuffled her feet with an unsteady laugh. She seemed to be trying to convey something almost apologetic to him with her eyes, but he didn't care to notice.

Pulling his backpack tighter, he huffed and stumbled up from the floor. "Yeah, great. You tripped me. Good one." He faked a laugh, pushing some hair out of his face. "Too funny. I'm dying over here."

Mercy scoffed and turned to walk away, her entourage following dutifully behind her. "Oh, get a life, Dorkman."

"Forever original," he exhaled, glaring at her unswaying, rock-hard, hairspray-stiffened hair as it stood frozen against her back. What he wouldn't give to have a carton of eggs right now.

He clenched his teeth against the urge and forced his head to turn in the other direction. Bad thought. He didn't need anymore of those. He had big plans today. Big, big plans. Today would be a good day—a good, quiet, painless day, and nothing, not Mrs. Freibag, not Mercy, not even himself, was going to change that.

Taking in a deep breath, he put his best foot forward to walk away and move on, when something crashed into him from behind. He fell – _of course_ – and landed flat on his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and bashing his chin. "Oh, criminy, not _again_!" He ran a hand roughly down the length of his face, struggling to gain back his breath. "Okay, you know what? Screw it—whoever you are, you're _toast_!"

He pushed himself up and started to turn around with the full intention to glare and chase after whoever knocked him down, when mid-spin he was suddenly seized by his collar and his feet left the floor. He gasped and grabbed at the hands currently holding him up, blinking furiously as he came face-to-face with Bald Kid's scowling face.

"Oh, I am, am I?" He sneered.

Phil blinked a few more times, still struggling to process that this had actually happened. "You—Okay. Yeah. Hi." He smiled. "You came out of nowhere. Did your ears fail you, Dumbo?"

The hand around his collar tightened and shook. Phil felt them moving, but was a little too preoccupied with being nose-to-nose with someone clearly angry with him to really look. "You are," his captor smiled back, though (a bit) less sincerely, "a big-mouthed brat. Do you know that, or are you really just that dense?"

"Actually my mouth is relatively small," he corrected, unfazed. "It's proportionate with the rest of my body. I know you're not very good with math, though, so I'll let your little miscalculation slide."

Exactly twenty seconds later, he found himself with his backpack thrown aside, his shirt pulled up over his head, and a locker door slamming after him. Before he could process that his vision was obscured by a piece of fabric and he was in a small, dark place and not _actually_ blind, a very loud, metallic bang sounded from directly in front of him and made him jump. "You're gonna learn one day to shut up," Bald Kid's voice sounded muffled and distant in his ears. "Mark my words, Shortman! If someone else doesn't teach you, then _I will_." The bang came again, rattling him, followed by laughter and stomping footsteps.

He cried out in frustration and rammed himself up against the sides of the locker in his attempts to free himself from his shirt. As soon as he was able to – miraculously (and in a feat much reminiscent of Jesus himself, in his opinion) – he gasped for air and slammed his feet against the door. It didn't budge, and he threw his head back against the wall with a groan. "You've got to be kidding me." He shifted his butt off of something annoyingly poky and covered his mouth with his palm, staring bleakly into the shadows.

He stayed in that position for a while, practically laying on his back, feet against the door, head at an awkward angle wedged in the corner, before letting out a long sigh through his nose.

"A bit of a setback," he muttered against his hand, flicking a speck of fuzz from his pants. Shaking his head a little, he fished his beeper out of his shirt pocket and started punching in a message to the big lummox of the family.

Or, one of them anyway.

* * *

><p>Hours later, the clanking of metal on metal jolted him out of a light slumber, and bright yellow fluorescence slamming him in the face nearly blinded him for a second. He blinked several times, disoriented.<p>

"Hey." He looked up to see Josh hunched over, golden hair aflame in the background light as he stared into the locker at him. "Sorry, I would've come earlier, but I couldn't get Kori to leave. Finally I managed to get her caught in a conversation with the mathletes and I was able to slip away. How long you been in here?" He offered a hand.

Phil grunted and slapped his hand away. "Ever since I sent you that text." He let his feet out of the locker and wincingly massaged his knee. "How long ago was that? After a while, you start to lose track of time in there." He went to work on the other knee, hissing. "Next time I'll have to scratch the hours off on the wall, like they do in prison." He gave Josh a sidelong look of accusation.

Josh grimaced. "I'm sorry. I have classes all the way across the school, though, Phil, I can't just drop everything to get you out of here every day. I have responsibilities."

"Family is your biggest responsibility," Phil grumbled, his eyes focused on his task.

He sighed. "Again, I'm sorry. I got here as fast as I could." He leaned back and ran his eyes over the fourth grade classroom door, something that looked vaguely of concern passing over his face. "You missed class. Everyone's already out to recess now, and my class is in lunch. That's the only reason I was able to come." He glanced down at his pager, then back at him. Phil nodded to all this, filing it away, and Josh raised an eyebrow. "I still don't understand why you don't just text Dad. He's right around the corner, and he can leave class for emergencies. You know Mrs. Freitag's gonna be mad—"

"It's not anything she didn't expect," Phil snorted, before standing up and twisting his shoulders back and straightening out his clothes. "You know everyone considers me a delinquent around here." He grabbed his bag back up where it had fallen off and drummed his fingers against it one-by-one, avoiding eye contact.

Josh eyed him suspiciously. "You didn't mouth off to her again, did you—"

Phil snapped his head up to glare at him suddenly, yelling, "She wanted me to, she egged me on!"

"Dad's not going to be happy," Josh raised his voice slightly right back, lifting his eyebrows.

"Well, it's a good thing he's never gonna find out then." Phil slammed the locker shut once and for all and began marching down the hall, slipping his backpack on as he did. Josh easily matched his pace. "I don't want to be on the receiving end of one of his lectures again. I already know missing class is wrong and I should just keep my trap shut, yada yada yada. It doesn't change anything, though. We're just reviewing crap from last year, and Grandpa had me review all that over the summer already, so missing a couple classes isn't going to affect my grades."

"But if you miss too much of it, she'll report you to the principal," Josh warned.

Phil pursed his lips, keeping his eyes ahead. He didn't have a response to that.

Josh danced ahead of him and slid in his way, blocking his escape route. Phil growled and tried to step around him, but Josh was too quick. He narrowed his eyes slightly after his third attempt to run away, and spread his arms out in a sharp, 'move and regret it' motion. "Phil, you know Mrs. Freitag's gonna want to talk to Dad—"

"No, she won't," Phil whined slightly, impatient, still trying to figure out a way around him. "No one ever talks to Dad. They don't want to bother him over the likes of me—"

"You've told me before Mrs. Freitag seems to rejoice in getting kids in trouble. This is the third time you've missed class because of those girls this month, she's _going_ to talk to _somebody_—"

"She'll probably just give me detention," Phil sighed and finally stopped trying to run, throwing his head back in exasperation. In times like this, he really wished he could tell Josh the whole truth, but as it were, he stared vacantly at the ceiling.

Josh narrowed his eyes further. "Which will get Dad's attention, too, you know. You can't hide this from him forever. You never should have tried."

Phil paused at that, his face blank, before he threw his head back down and let out a long groan. "I never do anything wrong, it's not fair. Why am I always the one to get in trouble?"

Josh frowned at that, his face softening. "Zack gets in trouble plenty—"

He groaned again. "Oh, no, he doesn't, he gets away with everything and you know it."

Josh fell silent for a few moments, before he forced out a cough and said a little darkly, "Not for long." Phil tilted his head up a little to look at him through half-lidded, dryly perceptive eyes, and Josh cleared his face to a swift look of neutrality. "Anyway, I wouldn't say you do nothing wrong. You are kind of rude to those girls." His eyelids dropped, well aware that "rude" didn't even begin to cover it but not wanting to get Phil anymore riled up.

Even still, Phil's face darkened and he went back to trying to step around him. This time, Josh let him, but he continued to follow at his side. Phil cast him a weak glare. "They started it. They always start it."

"I know."

"I do nothing wrong, ever. I've always tried to respect what Dad has to say about things, but I can't do that here." He slowed his walk down to a snail's speed, glaring down at his shoes as they dragged across the floor, and Josh sympathetically matched his pace. "I can't just let myself get walked all over, and that's exactly what he wants me to do. It's not _fair_. It goes against everything I know." He stopped altogether suddenly and ran his hands over his face, knowing very well he sounded like a broken record. Suddenly, he looked up at him, his face somewhat determined, somewhat desperate, and asked, "What would you do in my situation? You never seem to have problems with girls."

Josh stopped and stared down at him as he asked this, and then his face went a little red, thinking about why precisely it was he didn't have problems with girls. Or at least not ones like Phil had, anyway. They were more like… "Uh…" His face reddened. "I just… would probably…"

Phil stared up at him, eyes wide and green and innocent. Or… sorta innocent anyway. As innocent as Phil was capable of being.

Josh sniffed, then coughed. Well, honesty was always the best policy, so… He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, when I was your age, I had a couple girls who'd always throw pudding at me at lunch, so I complained to Dad. He told me that when girls show special attention to a boy, it usually means that they like him, so I… started to see them in a new light, and I…" He smiled a little, stupidly.

Phil continued to stare at him, his eyes slowly narrowing.

Josh tried to laugh it off, but Phil had already caught on. "You're a pig." He shook his head and continued walking, more determined than before. Josh had to actually work to catch up this time.

"Oh, come on, Phil, you're almost nine! You _know_ they're into you. It couldn't hurt to loosen up a little," Josh tried to persuade him. "Have a little fun, try something new. Maybe you'll end up learning something. Besides, you're too young to be so—so—"

"_That_," Phil cut him off, his tone razor sharp. "That view on things is exactly why you're going to end up dead someday. Or at the very least slapped. _Really hard_, until your fat, flabby face is nothing but one big scar."

Josh shook his head, his temper rising a little, though he tried to keep a lid on it. "I beg to differ. At least I don't dump honey on girls' heads, and then think to myself, 'Oh, gee, I wonder why I keep getting tripped and thrown in lockers'—"

"They started it," Phil cried out in hopeless repetition, stopping only to stomp his foot. "I didn't even start retaliating until the end of second grade, when they glued my butt to the chair during that assembly and I had to run through the school in my boxers and steal Pete's pants just to avoid total humiliation. They went too far with that one." He pivoted around on his foot and pointed a finger up at him, making Josh look down at him in surprise, and a hint of exhaustion. "I never did anything to warrant all this! They're monsters! And idiots, to boot!" His face contorted some ways in thought, before a hint of enlightenment shone in his eyes and he stated, "That's how I have my fun, Josh. I get back at them. It's… refreshing."

"And also gets you in trouble," Josh replied, a bit dry.

Phil groaned and turned back around, his arms spread out at his sides. "Can you blame me? Nothing ever happens around here, and they're annoying, and easy to get back at. I kept thinking, that if something didn't give, I'd end up offing myself for all the boredom. Everybody needs a hobby, don't they?" He sniffed. "I'm just glad we're gonna be staying in the boarding house for a while. I've been sick of the rut."

"I was thinking things had been kind of hectic the last few years," Josh muttered, trailing after as he started walking again.

"Maybe for you, meat-head, but not for me." He turned the corner almost aggressively, practically stomping up the hall now. "While you've been off gallivanting around the country, making a mockery of Shortmans and Patakis everywhere, I've been stuck inside _learning_." He groaned, yet again. Josh eyed the back of his head with a small smirk.

"You could have come along," Josh sang quietly.

Phil sang back sarcastically, "Not on your life."

Josh flicked his eyes to the ceiling. "Well, fine. A month in the boarding house and your birthday coming up will definitely relieve any present boredom, so it doesn't matter anyway. Problem solved." Josh smiled widely and skipped ahead to look at his face, trying to cheer him up, only to get a very skeptical scowl in return for his efforts. Josh's smile didn't dim, however, as he was used to this response from him. It was the same face he got every time he asked him if he wanted to go rock climbing, or parasailing, or haunted house exploring, or when he told him he was taking too long in the bathroom. Yes, he and that face were very well acquainted. Perhaps too acquainted… No, _definitely_ too acquainted. He looked away, eyebrows creasing slightly in thought.

At present, Phil had been silent for some time as they walked, choosing not to respond to his – apparently, unsurprisingly, failed – attempt to make him feel better. They reached the cafeteria at long last, and Phil went straight to the vending machine outside the entrance, rooting through his pocket for his wallet as he shambled along. Josh leaned against the wall beside the machine, arms crossed, and stared at him.

Phil took out a dollar, stuck it in the machine, punched in the code, let his heavy backpack slide off his shoulders to the floor, and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited…

Finally, he growled and kicked the machine as hard as he could. It rustled for a few seconds before the sparks came, shooting out of the controls in colorful brilliance. He stumbled back and shielded himself while the fireworks went off, trembling like a leaf. Josh flinched slightly, but otherwise just watched on in bemusement. When the light show was over, Phil tentatively lifted his head back up, eyes a little wide before they fell back down, and he laid his head against the glass with a sigh. "When will I learn?"

Josh smirked, lightly. "I still say you should loosen up."

Phil glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "And I still say you should get a haircut."

He brought a self-conscious hand up to touch at his drooping cornflower cowlicks, then abruptly dropped it and glared at him. "I'm serious."

"So am I. You look like you belong in a boy band."

"Stop, Phil, please. Be serious." His glare hardened, before he faltered. "I mean, don't be serious. Or sarcastic—whatever—Just—" He huffed. "Stop avoiding the subject!"

"What subject?" Phil asked in an exaggeratedly innocent, eight-year-old tone.

Josh fought hard to keep his face severe, but in the end a smile won out and he had to choke back a small chuckle as he stepped away from the wall. Phil recognized what he was going to do before he did it, and tried to take a long step back to avoid his advance, but Josh grabbed him around the shoulders before he could and bestowed him with the roughest and most hair-destroying noogie in his arsenal. "The subject of you being no fun!"

Phil screeched and tried to push him away, but Josh was too strong, and he was too small, and in the end he had little choice but to just groan and slump over his arms. As nothing more than an unamused, hurricane-haired paperweight, Josh gave up the joke and released him. Rather than snap back to life like he'd expected, though, Phil just face-planted into the floor, and stayed there.

Josh's eyes widened. "Phil?" No response. He stepped over couple limp limbs to try to get a glimpse of his face. He still didn't budge, and Josh grew tense. "Phil…" he warned, his voice low. "Don't screw with me. Either talk or prepare to be dragged to the nurse's office."

Phil turned his head slightly to look at him out of one squinted, green eye, and muttered, "I'm _dead_. Your atomic noogie has killed me. Never again shall you defile the sanctity of a good five minutes worth of combing. Now just let me rest in peace and scat, will you?"

Josh straightened out his posture with an eye roll. "Seriously, Phil? I was just playing around—"

"I was stuck in a locker for at least two hours," Phil interrupted him, glancing back down at the floor. "I have three girls out to get me that I can't do anything about, I just wasted a dollar on a machine I knew probably wasn't even going to work, you won't leave me alone about the choices I've made in _my_ life, and now I have Mom having a heart attack over my hair to look forward to when we get back to the boarding house." He turned over on his side and curled up into a ball. "Life just isn't worth it anymore." He waved him off with a rubbery arm. "Leave me! You have done me no good, this day!" He let his arm flop down over his head, and then made a faint squeak when it hurt.

Josh blinked, his face blank, and shifted his eyes to stare out across the hallway a moment, as if to silently ask the universe why it was putting him through this, before leaning down to look at him with his head turned sideways. "Look, Phil, I didn't mean to offend you. All I was trying to say was that it might be…" he roll his eyes to the side, making sure to be careful with his wording, before he sighed and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "I don't know, I just think it might be good for you. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, you know?"

"Who the heck is Jack?" Phil lifted his arm and turned his head just to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Missing the point!" He reached down and pulled Phil up off of the floor. Phil locked his legs so he didn't fall down again, but he did so with a huff and a cross of his arms. Josh continued, starting to sound a little tired now, as prolonged conversations with Phil tended to do to him, "You're so uptight. I just, I don't know…" He absently rubbed the back of his neck. Shaking his head, he asked, "Have you ever even had a crush?"

"Ha," a voice exclaimed before Phil could even answer, and both boys jumped. "Phil and girls? Wouldn't that require having a heart?"

"Kori," Josh greeted, a grin lighting up his face and a hint of relief sparking in his eyes.

The short, eleven-year-old girl grinned back, with hair of shining ebony and glinting hints of auburn. Her skin was a light brown, her eyes hidden behind dark red glasses, with a long sweater, short black skirt, and worn out dirty white sneakers to complete the ensemble. "Ham!" She skittered over to stand beside the taller boy, and clasped her hands behind her back with a knowing smirk, rocking on her heels. "Thought you could ditch me, huh? Nice try." She stuck her tongue out at him, and Josh looked innocently away from her.

"Oh, great, the asian," Phil deadpanned, wasting no time in pointing a finger at the vending machine. "Fix it."

Kori resisted the urge to roll her eyes and walked up to inspect the machine, putting a mocking hand to her chin as she did so. After a couple moments of hemming and hawing as she stepped around it, 'inspecting it thoroughly,' she nodded her head and said, "Mmm, yes, I think I see the problem here…" She took a step back and kicked it.

It instantly flared back to life, and a bag of sun chips was heard clunking to the bottom. Kori smiled and stepped out of the way, gesturing to it with both arms. "There you go." She giggled at Phil's dropped jaw. "Oh, what would you boys do without me?"

"How did you do that?" Phil yelled, snapping wide eyes to and from the machine. "I did the same thing and it exploded!"

Kori's smile widened, not looking the least bit surprised. "I guess it just doesn't like you. Might have something to do with that attitude problem."

Phil did a double take of her before glaring, hard, as he walked slowly up to the vending machine to retrieve his snack. "Oh, ha, ha. Stick to kicking vending machines, woman, it's the only thing you're good at."

Kori's eyes widened then quickly narrowed, and she gave him the bitch look to end all bitch looks as he tore his chips open and slowly placed one in his mouth, looking her unwaveringly in the eye as he did so. Once it was in, he paused a long moment, staring, before snapping his jaw up, a resounding _crunch_ crashing against her eardrums. Phil smirked at her as he chewed. She snapped her eyes over to Josh then and asked quietly, too quietly, "Why isn't Phil at recess with the rest of his class?"

Josh looked conflicted on how to properly respond to that. Luckily, Phil answered for him, "I'm avoiding stupid people." He paused. "So basically, all uteruses, everywhere." He put another chip in his mouth and chewed in the most loud, obnoxious way possible.

She took a deep breath in through her nose, fully aware he was just trying to annoy her but still feeling the sting. She let the breath out through her mouth, and softly replied, while giving Josh a 'I still can't believe you're related to _this'_ look out of the corner of her eye, "Why? Did something happen?" Josh met her look with an apologetic smile.

Phil shrugged, glaring into his bag of chips as he rustled it in his hand. "Just Dad guilt-tripping me again. And as I was sitting alone in that—" he stopped short, "In that… in…" He grunted and stared even harder into his bag, as if trying to find the secrets of the universe in it. "Well, it doesn't matter. Point is I realized I can't be around those girls without wanting to maim them, so… In the interest of being a gentleman, I'm keeping my distance."

Kori stared at him a moment, before leaning over to whisper in Josh's direction, "If that's his version of being a gentleman, why can't he be one to me?"

Josh smirked at her and subtly rolled his eyes. He looked back to Phil then, his smirk turning to a simple smile. "I was just telling him he needed to loosen up a little."

Kori looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "As in what? Weekend aerobics?"

"I think he was suggesting I get a girlfriend or something." Phil rolled his eyes. "Because eight is the time to do that, obviously."

"Hey, I was just pointing out that you've never actually had a good time with a girl before," Josh defended, eyes slightly narrowed. "Heck, with _anyone_ before. All you ever do is hang around the house. It's not healthy. And I had my first crush when I was five, so you haven't got any excuse."

"Other than having a higher capacity for thought than you?" He caught Josh's glare and scowled slightly, bowing his head. "Look, I'll get to it when I get to it," he grouched, turning it into a whine at the end. "I've got more important things to be worrying about right now."

"Yes, plus there's that whole heart issue," Kori added in her two cents. Josh snorted and pushed her in the shoulder.

"I was just saying you should have fun." Phil rolled his eyes, tallying this up as the third time Josh had used the word 'fun' in the last five minutes. Josh glared at him, catching the eye roll. "You're almost nine and _still_ complaining about being bored. That's an easy problem to solve! Live a little. Do something bold for once, instead of nerding around at home while everyone else is out—"

"Having fun?" Phil took a wild guess, dryly.

"Enjoying themselves," Josh finished, shaking his head. Noting that Phil looked less than enthused by the idea, he sighed, "You could at least try to make some friends or something."

"I have friends!" Phil glowered at him for the insult, before his face dropped a little. "I just don't like any of them."

Josh sighed. "Then make some that you _do_ like. Look, we've gotta go to lunch." He started walking sideways in the direction of the cafeteria entrance, his eyes still focused on Phil as Kori eagerly ran ahead of him. "Next year I'm going to a new school for middle school, Phil. I can't take care of you forever. At the very least just try to get along with everyone, okay? For your own sake?"

Phil opened his mouth to respond, but Kori excitedly yanking on Josh's arm interrupted him, "Come on, Hammy, they're serving cheese-covered mashed potatoes today!"

Josh's face lit up. "Score!" He fist pumped and the two of them raced away into the cafeteria, leaving Phil forgotten in the hallway.

Once out of earshot of Phil and with a spot in line secured, Kori looked over at Josh and asked, "You seriously think Phil should get a girlfriend?"

Josh smirked at the slightly scandalized look on her face and shrugged. "It just came up 'cause he was complaining about his fan club again."

"Yeah, I figured that, but… _dating_?" She snorted. "Really, Ham? Last I checked that never goes over well for Shortmans. I can't recall any instance where you or Zack having a crush did anything but cause migraines, tears, and all the ice cream in the Johanssen household to mysteriously disappear. There wasn't anything _fun_ about it."

"Yeah, well," he reached over and plucked a French fry off of one of the other kid's plates while he was occupied, avoiding Kori's eye, "Phil's always emphasizing how much better he is than me, and, you know, it gets tiresome seeing someone so short always trying to look down their nose at you. Especially when they're hiding under a bed hugging a potted plant." He shrugged again, wiggling the French fry between his fingers. After taking a breath, he airily concluded, "It'd be nice to see him pushed down a few pegs. And what better way than to have him crying over being dumped _three_ times?" When Kori's jaw predictably fell open, he sniggered and flicked the French fry in. "Just kidding! Criminy, Kori, I think you're losing your touch."

Kori closed her mouth over the fry and chewed aggressively, bumping arms with Josh as she did so. "Man, for a second I thought you'd crossed over to the dark side." She swallowed and giggled. "I'm kinda disappointed, actually."

Josh rolled his eyes and bumped her back. "I _apologize_, then." The two shared a grin, before the mirth in Josh's eyes faded away and he cleared his throat. "But seriously, I know you don't agree, but liking people is tons of fun. Ice cream shortage or not, I wouldn't change anything and I don't think Phil would, either. Besides, I'm running out of ideas here; he won't leave the house for anything really fun and he gets mad if I try to bring the fun to him, so girls are all that's left." Kori opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted when he snorted and turned his eyes ahead again, crossing his arms. "Really, who does that? Cooped up all day at home, studying, the only excitement in your life being harassed by girls at school…" He mumbled, "I really would die of boredom."

Kori smirked at his back, tilting her head slightly as she moved up with him. She stood a couple inches behind him, waiting to see if he was going to continue, before letting her hands flutter over her skirt to smooth out the creases. "You know what I think?"

"Oh, I'm afraid to even wonder." He turned to raise his eyebrows at her.

Kori ignored him. "I think you just want him distracted so you can get away with doing more stupid things."

He stared at her for a moment before his eyes narrowed and he huffed, a scowl seizing his face. "I can't just want my little brother happy? I have to have some ulterior motive? For crying out loud, Kori, I'm not _Zack_. Give me a little respect."

"Oh!" She looked startled. "I know you have a heart of gold." Looking down, she shuffled her feet a little before looking up at him through the edge of her glasses. When his face softened like she knew it would, she skipped ahead of the line suddenly and grabbed a tray, turning only to grin at him with her tongue between her teeth. "I just like teasing you and knowing you can't do a thing about it."

Josh stared at her, his eyebrows knit. Something was burning around his neck but he ignored it, instead choosing to move up the line with her and grab a tray of his own. After they had their food and were making their way to their table, he mumbled, "Mongolian chop, power bomb, pin."

Kori laughed. "You _wish_."

* * *

><p>As this conversation was taking place, Phil was wandering aimlessly in the opposite direction, wringing his bag of chips like a dishtowel and kicking a bottle cap. The hallway was almost deathly silent, causing the bottle cap's every hop and skip to echo painfully in his ears. The bag of chips was crinkling obnoxiously and the chips could be heard snapping under the force of his hands, but he didn't stop. He needed something to occupy himself for the next hour, otherwise he'd run the risk of passing out from boredom before the next bell. Lucky for him the last thing he was feeling right now was bored.<p>

"Thinks he knows everything," he grumbled, kicking the bottle cap again. "Thinks he knows better. Thinks he can judge _my_ choices in _my_ life." He pitched his voice high and squeaky, " '_Oh,_ _you don't have any friends. You're just a pitiful nerd that nobody likes and I'm a big idiot that everyone loves because they're idiots, too_. _I fit right in and you don't, ha ha ha_." He blew a raspberry. " '_Nyehhh, look how fat my head is, I can't fit through doors_.' " Growling, he gave the cap a particularly hard kick and watched as it bounced clear across the hall and put a dent in a locker.

No steam was released. In fact, he only felt more frustrated. His hands fisting over the chips in his hands, he clenched his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and whispered, "There's nothing wrong with me."

The hallway said nothing. Looking up, he glanced around at the empty hall and kept moving forward. He didn't have anything better to do anyway. Fists clenching again, this time at his sides with crumbs bursting out of one side of the bag, he spat under his breath, "I don't _need_ protection. I can take care of myself just fine."

Upon reaching the row of lockers at the end of the hall, he looked down at the bottle cap laying facedown on the floor and quirked his mouth to one side. There, in small, digital print, it read, _You are a loser_.

Phil stared at it for a long moment, unblinking, before leaning forward to lay his head against the lockers. "Great, now even bottle caps are judging me."

He sagged there for he-didn't-know-how-long, focusing on keeping his breathing calm and purging all thought from his mind. Eventually he grew restless and kicked the bottle cap once more in frustration.

His eyes popped open then as he realized he still had his backpack with him. Guiltily, he felt anticipation well up inside him and with a sudden spike of breath, slowly began to shift his bag down his arms so he could retrieve the item he had in mind. Bob would kill him if he ever found out, but then, what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. He grinned.

"Well, well, well." Phil sprang away from the locker at the voice, heart jolting in shock. The voice went on, undeterred by his reaction, "If it isn't Rumphilstiltskin. Just the little troll we were looking for." Phil planted his feet firmly beside each other and closed his eyes, his teeth gnashing together to keep from lashing out.

"Yeah," the typical bland voice followed her statement.

"Hehe… hi."

Taking in a measured breath, he gathered his patience, turned, and shoved his half-empty bag of chips into Mercy's hands. When she looked down at it then back up at him with a look of cool disbelief, he read the question in her eyes with a roll of his own. "They're not poisoned, relax. Consider them a peace offering."

When Mercy didn't respond right away, Adalynn leaned around her a little, looking cautiously hopeful. "A peace offering?"

Phil nodded his head, keeping his expression bland. "Or, you know, payment to leave me alone forever. Whatever works." He shrugged, and Mercy narrowed her eyes. "I don't know how you managed to slither up on me but I don't want to fight today, so…" He flitted a hand at her in a 'off with you' motion.

Mercy just rolled her eyes and stuffed the bag into Adalynn's startled hands. "_Okay_. Do you want to reschedule for tomorrow at four then?"

"Uh…" He blinked a couple times, before pursing his lips tight. He was usually very decisive with his words, always with an aggressive surety and passion for what he was saying, so he knew right then and there that his "Uh" had given away that he was holding back what he really wanted to respond with. He could see from the look in her eyes that she'd noticed, too, and coughed out a quick, "I'm gonna say no?"

Mercy's face tightened and she took a step forward to glare not two inches from his perturbed face. "Really? Well, I guess we'll just have to do this now then." She gave him a hard shove. His eyes widened and he stumbled back, his backpack acting as a weight that kept him having to stumble back to keep from falling. In the end, gravity won out and he slammed his butt down onto the ground. The girls all laughed.

Scowling now, he stood up from the floor and began a stiff jog away from them. He heard a shuffle behind him. "Over already, loser? No retaliation? You've finally given up?" He clenched his fists, but didn't respond. After a very short pause, he heard, "Fine. I see how it is. Let's get'm, girls."

He immediately tried to break into a run, but it was too late—Mercy and Georgia were already upon him. Each grabbed hold of his arms and pulled, causing him to stumble and fall straight onto his back, his bag thankfully taking most of the blow this time. He felt himself being dragged across the floor and growled, yanking his arms back with all the strength he could muster from the sheer force of his resentment. It proved only enough to free himself of Mercy's (as always) weak hold, but with the absence of Mercy also came the immediate withdraw of Georgia's efforts. Once she let go of his arm, he found himself in a new predicament, though. He was on his back, stuck laying on his very full, very heavy backpack, and couldn't exactly _jump back up_ as he was accustomed to doing.

Groaning after his second failed attempt, he let his head drop back and closed his eyes. Now he knew what it felt like to be a turtle.

Sensing their imminent return, he quickly rolled onto his side and shuffled up from the floor, stumbling away from them with his arms barred in front for protection. He issued them each a look of warning, taking weary note of the miffed look on their faces. "Look, enough is enough. I'm not in any mood today. Especially if you've gotten dumb enough to think you can actually _manhandle_ me. You're _girls_." As Mercy's nostrils predictably flared, he took a small step back and asked, changing topic, "What were you even trying to do?"

Mercy scowled at this and stepped forward, as he took another responding step back.

"We weren't really going to _do_ anything. We just wanted to ruffle you up a bit. It's been a slow day." She shrugged daintily. Or, tried to anyway. She smiled a bit too innocently then, eyelids fluttering and thick, black eyelashes sticking together. Phil's eyebrows knitted.

Georgia gave a vague nod of her head to back-up Mercy's words, her tiny star earrings swinging slightly, and said, "Yeah." Adalynn just kind of shrugged. Mercy crossed her arms over her chest and went on with her eyes narrowed, "Considering your size, we didn't think it'd be that hard. Mostly that backpack's fault. It's heavy."

He looked at her blankly. "That's 'cause I actually read stuff around here." He ran his eyes over her shoulders and arms with a pointed gaze, conveying that he didn't see any backpacks on her.

She scowled at this and took another step forward. He took another step back. "Oh, of course," she said lightly, "I almost forgot. Your mom's a writer, isn't she? The great Cecile Pataki." She sneered, her face dropping into a sardonic thin-lipped expression. Her face was getting a little red. "Right. Why wouldn't you read? You must read all the time." She took another step forward, her fists clenching slightly, but this time he didn't move. Just raised an eyebrow and stared at her strangely.

He couldn't say what he wanted to say, so instead he settled on an awkward, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Georgia nodded. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed now, too. As if this was somehow offensive.

Phil sighed impatiently and turned to leave. "I don't have time for this." Not two steps away, he stopped suddenly and twisted around with his arms held out, scowling. "No more games. I'm serious."

They looked at him innocently.

He cut his eyes at them suspiciously, before turning back around and continuing down the hall, his steps measured and cautious.

He only had three seconds of peace before there was a shuffling from behind him and he broke into a run. Swerving around a corner, he realized they were gaining and let his backpack drop off of his shoulders to the floor, not once slowing. Once it was off, he could run faster, and he was delighted to hear Mercy cry out as she tripped over it. His legs were short, though, and before long Georgia inevitably managed to catch up with him and pull him back. He screeched and flailed his arms at her, but she just grabbed him around the torso, under his arms, and proceeded to heft him up. Adalynn grabbed him by the legs then and the next thing he knew he was being thrown into a—a room. He hastily stood, erect, blinking in confusion.

The door was swung quietly shut the next second, and he started. His eyes flew around in a panic and it took him all of two seconds to realize where he was.

The girls' bathroom. He sniffed. Yep. Air freshener. The floors and stalls were spotless and dry. The ceiling didn't have a bunch of fossilized wads of toilet paper stuck to it. Not to mention there weren't any urinals. His eyes narrowed into slits. Oh, they were dead.

Clenching his teeth, he flew back and grabbed the handle with every intention of throwing it open and screaming at them. But then he stopped, and he thought, and finally, he drooped. His hand slipped from the door.

Turning back around, he stared into the girls' bathroom with a long frown. He couldn't go back out there. They might go after him again, or laugh at him, or—or _something_. They would definitely do something, and he didn't want to deal with it. He _couldn't_ deal with it. How would he explain that to his dad? "_I know it's only been four hours since I promised I'd be good, but they threw me into the ladies room__—I had to murder them!_" He pinched his nose.

But then, they could always come in here, and being trapped in the girls' bathroom with a pack of girls who had it out for him would be much, much worse. He turned his head slightly to look at the door, troubled. He couldn't go out there, though. He knew they'd be waiting, waiting to do that something… something bad, that would make him angry, and make _him_ want to do something bad.

He couldn't hide, he had nowhere to run that they wouldn't eventually find him, he couldn't fight them without his dad being disappointed in him, and he couldn't be around them without wanting to get back at them—_what was he supposed to do?_

He threw his head into his hands.

There was a ruffling from the inside one of the stalls then and his head popped up in alarm. He wasn't alone.

Voices came, one meek and shaky, the other with a small hint of deepness in it that could only be male, and… accents. They had accents. Scottish and Italian. Phil quickly threw himself up against the wall by the light switch, out of sight in case they came out of the stall. He felt his breathing spike and quickly grabbed himself by the throat to stop it in its tracks. He clenched his eyes shut. _Not __now_…

"Ey, is anyone out there?"

Phil said nothing. He heard a scuffle, but otherwise the bathroom was silent for at least half a minute. Then the girl burst out.

"I-I promise, Vin,' I'll 'ave yer money by this time next week. I swear, ehe—"

There was another scuffle, a splash, and a squeak. Phil's eyes popped open. "What do ya take me for? An idiot? I know yeh don't 'ave the money, or the goods. You haven't even tried—"

"Next week! I'll have it, I'll have it all! I won't tell nobody! I swear it!" the female all but screamed.

There was a pause. "Fine. Next week. Gerald Field. Six o'clock. Be there, or I'll be coming back for another one of our lil' visits—our _last_ lil' visit." There was a loud splash and a bang, and then the stall door could be heard squeaking open. Phil was practically choking himself by now to keep his panicked breathing at bay, and focused all his mental power on ignoring the fact his lungs were screaming out for air, or that his heart was racing; hands sweating; his head getting foggy. Just as he heard the faucet squeak on, and the resultant _shoosh_, his hands shot down against his will and he gulped in a large gust of air. The water immediately switched off.

As Phil choked on oxygen, footsteps echoed in his ears like gunshots, getting louder, closer towards his hiding place. They were not rushed or stomping or slow. Just normal and calm; perfectly composed.

Phil coughed and quickly slammed his hand against his mouth as the first foot came into view, and then when his breaths came rapidly out his nose, he slammed his other hand down over his nose, back flat against the wall.

One more step, and there he was. A… A…

A really, really short kid. Like, shorter-than-him short – short to the point he actually had to tilt his head a little down to look him in the eye – and wearing a pinstripe pantsuit with shiny crocodile shoes. Phil tilted his head at the figure, utterly confounded. He'd expected a big, beefy bully, not a queerly dressed insect.

"Ey," his Italian accent persisted, as he slicked his hair back with a hand and raised an eyebrow. "What the heck, kid? You got a little anxiety problem or what?"

Phil was too busy trying to control his hyperventilating to respond. His breaths came in sharp spurts through his hands, and his eyes were wide.

The boy stared at him oddly for a long time, apparently unconcerned by his panic attack, until whatever fascination he had was spent and he pulled out a small folded up paper bag from his jacket. He offered it to him, and Phil snatched it out of his hand without an ounce of hesitation.

After several deep breaths into the bag, he managed to slow his breathing down to a slight cough and looked back to the kid. Weakly, he stated, "You don't go to this school."

The boy blinked, before flicking something at his face. It bounced harmlessly off of his nose, but Phil still jolted back, having not expected it.

"You're right." With that, the insect breezed out of the bathroom leaving Phil alone with the girl. He stared after him a moment, dumbstruck, before turning his eyes down to see a small rolled up tootsie roll wrapper lying on the floor. He heard a groan then and turned his head around to see the girl – a campfire lass, he realized, noticing the hat drooping over her face – lying in a dazed, soaking wet heap. She didn't appear to have registered anything that had just taken place.

Indeed, rather than ask why there was yet another boy in the girls' bathroom, she sputtered stupidly through a mouthful of brown hair, "What did I do to deserve this?"

Phil blinked, and looked back at the door, then back to her. He cocked an eyebrow. Oh, yeah. That's what he was supposed to do.

The next second, he was bursting through the door with a frantic yell, "Why do you hate me?" His chest heaved, eyes darting around in search of the girls.

The hall was empty.

He frowned, and walked to the center of the hall, still scanning for any hints of movement. He found none. The hall was utterly deserted.

Where could they have gone? They wouldn't have just left. They'd at least want to laugh at him before running off. Otherwise, what was the point in humiliating him?

Then a voice coming from directly behind him answered all his questions. "I don't hate you."

Phil jumped, and spun around in shock. "Mr. Deon!" He blinked a couple times, quickly, before forcing himself to relax. "Um. Hi, sir." He looked down.

Principal Deon nodded to him, unsmiling as he stood with his back to the wall. "Young man. Were you just in the girls' bathroom?"

"Uh…" He flushed slightly, before fixing a small, hopefully convincing smile on his face. He tried not to fidget as he answered, "My mistake, Mr. Deon."

"Hmm." The principal's eyelids lowered further. "Your last name, young man?"

"Shortman, sir," he answered quietly.

"As in…" his head tilted down, a tone he didn't quite recognize entering his voice, "Arnold Shortman?"

Phil paused at that, and then looked up at him strangely. "He's my dad."

For a split second, he could've sworn he saw his eyes flash. Yet his voice was as calm and professional as ever when he said, "Oh. I see. You're the younger one." He took a step forward and leaned down towards him, eyes narrowed so subtly it was almost imperceptible. "And tell me, how do you feel today?"

Phil's back instinctively straightened out, as he mechanically responded, "Fine, sir."

"Mmm…" He straightened, his expression and blank tone unchanged. "That's good." He patted him on the shoulder as he passed by, and continued down the hall to his office at a leisurely stride, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.

Phil stayed in the same erect position until the footsteps had faded away, and then turned his head around, his face twisted in skeptical confusion. "What… the…" he breathed to the empty hall.

Okay… so maybe today wouldn't be so nice and quiet, after all.

* * *

><p>Not even a full hall away, hidden in the janitor's closet, were Mercy, Georgia and Adalynn.<p>

Breathing a tad heavily from running, Mercy mumbled, "That was close."

Georgia nodded, also breathing heavy. "Yeah."

Adalynn gulped, and ran her free hand down over her skirt. "Mr. Deon scares me. He never smiles."

Mercy quickly shushed her and kept her back flat against the door, blocking any entrance to the janitor's closet and, consequently, her friends. They all kept as quiet as possible, listening for him to leave. But he hadn't left. They couldn't hear his footsteps at all. It was like he'd just… stopped. They held their breaths.

They heard Phil's voice suddenly then, in a shout, somewhat muffled by the barrier, "Why do you hate me?"

Adalynn tensed.

It was quiet a moment, before Deon's voice came, "I don't hate you."

Mercy's eyes widened, and then a grin slowly curled her lips. She whispered near-soundlessly, "Oh my gosh, Phil—what if he expels Phil, oh my gosh—"

Georgia let out an intrigued breath that sounded a bit like, "Ooooh," and Adalynn remained silent.

The rest of the conversation carried out, some a little difficult to hear, but they caught the gist of it. When Phil gave his answer, Deon's footsteps were heard again, and got louder, louder, too loud… and then quieter, before they faded entirely away.

They all breathed a sigh of relief.

Mercy stepped away from the door, smiling lightly, before leaning her ear against the door. "Now the dork," she whispered. He weighed next to nothing, so his footsteps would be harder to hear. Hopefully he was weirded out enough that he'd stomp a little out of some weak act of defiance, like the pathetic little gnat that he was. Normally she'd say they just go out there and laugh at him, but that was too close a call, and she wasn't willing to put her friends in danger again over the likes of _him_.

He did stomp. Of course he did. He stomped all the way down the hall, before he was gone, and that was it. Mercy nodded, and turned back to her friends with open arms and a smile. "We did it, we're safe. Mission accomplished in record time."

Georgia did one of her raspy laughs and came forward to hug Mercy.

Adalynn didn't move, and kept her eyes cast to the floor, fingernails digging themselves into Phil's backpack. The two girls either didn't notice her mood, or chose to ignore it.

She knew the latter was the most probable, but still, she said not a word.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I fought tooth-and-nail against having Phil be majorly intelligent (I don't even know why anymore; I guess just because it feels like such a Sue-ish quality), but then I thought about it and realized it's the only thing that really makes sense for him. And I actually wrote in an unposted story a long time ago that stated something like, "Josh has to study like crazy to get good grades, Amanda is just an attentive little goodie-goodie so of course she makes all As, Zack cheats at everything but English, and Phil doesn't even have to try."

I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm just gonna stop and apologize right now for all the OCs. I was annoyed by that, too, if it makes anyone feel better, LOL. It's just that I couldn't... I mean... there HAD to be other kids! xD THIS IS A SCHOOL. Besides, at some point in this story I'm gonna be writing about Phil in middle school, and he's gonna meet up again with most of his old elementary school homies, so I needed something to work with. :P Next chap introduces some more friendly OCs (who _are_ the kids of some of the old HA! cast), Phil yelling at Arnold amidst a bunch of freaky goth chicks, LITTLE PHIL TALKING TO GRANDPA PHIL AKFLNFAKNKL (I WROTE THAT SO MANY MONTHS AGO BUT I STILL LOVE IT, IT'S SO CUTE AND GRANDPA'S THE BEST CHARACTER EVER, OKAY? GUH), and... other junk. Haha XD

Okay, I got some questions last chap so Imma answer those now :3

**Q** **-** **Philly hates girls for his classmates (the three girls)?**

**A -** Hate's a strong word... Let's just say he very strongly resents their existence. XD For now. I get more in depth on this next chapter.

**Q -** **Is the Zach's patch hidding black eye for August? (that was sad)**

Yes.

**Q - What Zach knews about Philly?**

**A - **That's what all the flashbacks here are going to be explaining. :3

**Q -** **Could be Josh loves to Pam? Or Does he loves Kori? And the relationship between Pam and Zach could change in something more? (i see difficult)**

**A - **Josh doesn't even know Pam. To him, she's just another one of his older brother's weird girl friend things, and someone who's obviously attracted to him (which he's used to so it's not a big deal). Whether or not that'll change, I can't say.

Kori and Ham have been best friends practically since birth, so... I don't think they even realize they're of the opposite gender. XD As a friend, yes, he adores her, but anything beyond that is murky water.

And finally, regarding the Zack/Pam situation... It is _extremely_ difficult. I'm glad you guys see that. Chemistry or no, I'm not just gonna throw those two together. It's too weird, considering... everything. I'm not saying it's impossible, but... Yeah. Difficult. We'll see.

**Q - Why Sophie is with Zach? Any reasons? I think she 's like Olga, a lot... or Lila. Yes! she's like Lila 2.0.**

**A - **Omg, I fell out of my chair. XD LILA 2.0. Hahaha... Okay, ah... Well, she's with him because she loves him. That's all I'm gonna say there. And Lila, well... she is very Lila-ish in principle, but she's not manipulative. That's all I'm gonna say there, too. XD

**Q - Who's Pam's brother? (please, don't be August, please!)**

**A -** You'll see ;D

**Q - Did Arnold so afraid about Helga, on all her pregnancies?**

**A - **Omfg, yes. XD Every. One. And I WILL be writing about it! I've actually already got Ham's birth story partially written, and in it, Arnold... *Dies* He has SOOOO MANY ISSUES, holy crap

**Q - Can improve the relationship between the brothers Shortman?**

**A -** No. They're gonna fight and hate each other forever.

LOL, no, no, I kid. Their relationships will improve, don't worry. I know I've written almost nothing but them being angry and trying to get revenge on each other so far, but keep in mind that they _are_ boys. What you're seeing here is testosterone flying (hehehe... that sounds dirty). Phil stole Zack's poem 'cause he was sick of always being, ah... on the bottom bunk, let's say. XD Zack _did_ overreact to it, and he does do something horrible... but he doesn't realize how horrible it is until it's too late, just like how Phil doesn't realize that making fun of Zack for his poetry is the equivalent of shoving a sword through him. By the end of "Breathing Slowly," you'll see them come to an understanding. But no matter what they say or do, no matter how bad things get between _any_ of them... they would still jump in front of a train for each other.

'Cause that's love, bitch. *High-fives some random stranger in the face*

**Q - Why is it that in my head Phillip Robert sounds like Invader Zim?**

**A - **...I noticed that, too... x'D

All right, that's about it. Please remember to...

_**REVIEW!**_


	24. Breathing Slowly: Part 4

**A/N: **Hahahahahahhhaahhahaaaaha

Look, it's me again. After like five months. Hahahahhahhahahaaa.

Okay, so, yeah, sweatdropsweatdrop, _but_ I have two other chapters fully written out after this one so I'm sitting pretty good at the moment. This'll leave me with some breathing room (hehe) so I can work on other projects, which is goooood. Sorry to say the Grandpa scene had to be moved over, but good news is that this is the last chapter with, like, serious OC crap going on. After this, it's smooth sailing. Sorta. For you. Not for me. Never for me, hahahahahahahaaha.

Might wanna strap on your seat belts, kiddies. This is gonna be a bumpy ride.

**~Beautiful People~**

**Conor Dachisen**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**AprilFiction - 13**

**metalheadrailfan**

**Jamesbondfan2016**

**puffball17**

**iamnelly**

**AlabasterTemptress**

**coldblue**

**writergirl97**

**lionheart**

**Victoria**

**JC Rose**

**starrynights1987**

**susan**

**xoxoMeggyxoxo**

**anonymous24**

Thank you all so, so much for the reviews. Seriously. I love reading you guys' thoughts and reactions to things. A lot of you guys made me laugh out loud with all your "Kill them, Phil!" comments. x'D You guys are hilarious. Thanks for the smiles. They mean a lot to me. I got quite a few longer reviews, too, that were fairly in depth. I want to give a thank you to you guys especially. You have made me pathetically happy. :')

Sniffsniff, okay, you just go on then, I shall keep you no longer... GO FORTH AND READ... PERSON.

I'LL BE FUNNY LATER, SHH.

**Disclaimer: **Dis mah shit dis will always be mah shit don't touch mah shit

Oh and the idea of who Pete's mom is was actually **UtopianPeace**'s. She was originally someone else, but his idea was so epic that I couldn't pass it up. :) I think it's really given Pete an edge, so thank you!

* * *

><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 4**

"_I've been on a self-inflicted mission_

_to destroy everything I'm given."_

_—Papa Roach_

* * *

><p>Peter Neilly was not an extraordinary individual.<p>

In fact, he was downright bland.

This was an opinion ground so firmly into his psyche that it seemed an absolute irrefutable fact. His features were perfectly plain, his intellect flawlessly average, and his personality so strikingly non-confronting and mild-mannered that nobody could ever find themselves either wanting or entirely satisfied when in his company. Like a diet Yahoo soda; a book without a moral; a blanket just a little too thin to preserve any actual warmth. If he was extraordinary in anything, it was in being so completely groundbreakingly uninteresting that he may as well have not existed at all.

It was ironic, then, that his best friend was one of the weirdest kids in school, unwillingly known by all as the ridiculously short kid who didn't ever know when to shove it. Thanks to his stubborn, impetuous attitude and utter know-it-all surety that he was always in the right, both faculty and student body had declared him a hopeless case before he had even turned six-years-old. Pete wasn't really sure how their friendship came to be, but it probably had something to do with the fact nobody liked them. Phil was annoying, Pete was boring, and together they were… together. And that counted for something in Pete's book.

They actually meshed surprisingly well with each other. Pete was so used to being ignored that Phil's strong reactions to anything and everything were refreshing, and Phil was used to everyone hating his guts, so having someone around who not only tolerated him, but somewhat liked him, _had_ to be nice. Pete could only imagine.

He was also the only person who could handle the full force of Phil's disdain. Insults had about the same effect as stating that apples were edible, and putdowns were a usual reaction to him so he didn't mind. Just the fact he let him hang around went above and beyond what most people did, so despite the improbability of it, it was something he had come to accept as a constant in his life. Like scattered leaves in fall, like clouds in the sky, like stars in space, Pete and Phil were best friends. And that was simply how it was.

So when the bell rang for lunch, naturally the first thing he did was—get shoved out of the way by Dolly Williams on his way out the door to look for Phil.

"Dolly!" he yelped just as he slammed into someone who'd just stood up from the bench. Georgia's bench. He came face to face with her, chest to chest, caught her leaning back with that interminable indifference on her face and blank silver eyes, and felt his face explode in blush. He coughed out an awkward laugh just as he was suddenly grabbed by the back of his collar and yanked inside the school.

Eyes wide, he stumbled backwards several stretched paces as he continued to be pulled in some unknown direction. "What—"

"Phil," Dolly wheezed, and Pete fell silent. Mostly because it was at that moment he finally tripped over his feet and landed on his back. Dolly dragged him from then on and he said nothing. They had common goals, after all, and she was better at locating him, so really he should be thanking her. And after a minute's worth of desperate pulls and turns, he did. "Thanks."

Her wheezing spiked a little and her steps became more determined. He clamped his mouth shut after that.

Dolly Williams was another default friend of Pete's. He'd known her just as long – if not longer – as he'd known Phil. It was all kind of inevitable, he guessed. Her dad, Brainy Williams, was an old friend of his mom's, Siobhan Neilly, as he was a literary genius and his mom an all-around genius, and Mr. Williams was also very good friends with Phil's mom, even though Phil's mom didn't like his mom too much. And by 'not like,' he meant 'passionately despised.' That much had been made clear at the Christmas party Mr. and Mrs. Williams threw one year where Mrs. Shortman drank a little too much and started spitting insults about his mom being a 'heartless mega bitch' and 'supreme ruler of all things shit.' Pete loved his mom, but even he couldn't muster the will to be completely offended at the time. His mom could be very… distant. That was the same year he, Dolly and Phil snuck off with all the corn tortillas and frisbee'd them into the neighbor's yard, because… well, they were six and the neighbor was mean. They ended up moving away that same month. Phil still insisted it was because of them, and Pete wasn't inclined to disagree. Mostly because disagreeing with Phil often (always) meant war.

Dolly was a shockingly green eyed bespectacled girl with dark Spanish skin and curly brown hair. Pete didn't know when exactly her obsession with Phil began, only that it was there, and it was bone-chillingly potent. She wasn't hesitant about it. She wasn't shy. She was bold and demanding and aggressive and single-minded. If Phil was in the area, she was behind him, beside him, plastered to his chest, breathing his hair. The only reason Phil didn't scream at her to leave him alone was because he was afraid of what she might do. Pete couldn't blame him. He wasn't even the object of her infatuation and he was scared, too. Probably why his butt hurt so much but he bit down any pained complaints in favor of letting her do what she wanted.

Finally, she let him go and he turned his head around just in time to see her launch herself at Phil. He'd been walking up the hall, his back to her, when he halted abruptly and stiffened, as if he _knew_. And then he was plowed over like a stalk of corn.

Pete stood up and walked over to where the mauling was taking place, making a point of not looking at it head-on. Once beside them, he asked, "Where have you been? You disappeared this morning. We thought you'd show up at recess."

Phil snapped his head around to look at him, just as Dolly kissed him on the cheek. His face twisted in revulsion but he did nothing to stop it. Straining from the effort not to dry heave, he grunted, "No kidding. I've been… busy…" He clenched his eyes shut and shuddered as Dolly smushed her lips against the side of his mouth. "Okay! I'm okay! That's good, Dolly, now _please get off_—" The plea was cut off as she lifted him up and gave him a squeezing, lung-collapsing, soul-crushing hug that made his eyes roll back into his head and his body go boneless.

Pete grimaced. It was a horrible thing to watch, like a deer getting it's head chewed off by a mountain lion. Without thinking he placed a hand on Dolly's shoulder and started, "Uh, Dolly—" when her eyes snapped on him, wide and unpredictable behind thick glasses and he suddenly found himself wondering if she'd still attend his funeral if she was the cause of it. Taking a long, fortifying step back, he started again, "Uh, now that we know, y'know, where he is, do you think you could let us talk?"

She paused and relaxed her hold on Phil so that he was sagging in her arms like a bag of sand. Pursing her lips, she thought it over, hard, before perking up and snapping her eyes back to Phil. "Lunch?"

He nodded weakly.

She grinned and smashed one last kiss into his hair before releasing him, whereupon he crumpled to the ground, and she skipped happily off to the cafeteria.

Pete frowned down at Phil's sprawling corpse, making no move to get up. He almost wished he had a stick so he could poke him. As it was, he gently nudged him with his foot. "You okay?"

"I will never be clean. So long as I live, I am ruined."

Pete sighed and grabbed him by the arm to pull him up. "You're okay."

"Says _you_." He ripped his arm away the second he was on his feet again and violently dusted off his shirt, wiped his cheek, mouth, and raked his fingers through his hair, all in the span of about five seconds. "Criminy, what was that about?"

Pete shrugged. "She must've been worried."

Phil snorted and shot him a pestered look. "Yeah, I got _that_."

"Okay?"

"It was a rhetorical question."

"Uh…"

"I said it to vent!"

"Oh."

Phil rolled his eyes and turned back around to start walking down the hall again. "Look, this really isn't a good time, Pete."

He easily caught up to him, as his legs were much longer. Or Phil's were just abnormally short. Okay, so a combination of both. "Why?"

Phil huffed when he realized he was following and stopped. Pete stopped, too. They stood there. Phil side-eyed him with a pinched expression, tense and wide-eyed. Pete just blinked at him. Finally, he explained in a rush, "I'm looking for my backpack and in less than five minutes there's going to be people galloping through the halls like wild elephants and on top of that now I have to go to lunch at some point or risk having my head on a spike so I really don't have time to talk to you, goodbye." He broke into a run and raced up the hall.

Pete, again, easily caught up to him and shot him a confused look. "What happened to your—"

Phil groaned, clearly unhappy that he was still there. "Mercy happened, you moron, now leave me al—"

"But Mercy was at recess and I didn't see—"

"You calling me a liar?" Phil stopped abruptly and his eyes flashed.

Pete skidded to a stop and looked back at him warily, over his shoulder. He could almost hear the Western showdown music. Whoops. "No, it's just…" He didn't know what he was going to say. He turned slightly to face him and frowned at the floor tile. "Um…"

Phil's nostrils flared and jerked his head away. "Whatever. I don't want to talk about it."

Pete was so shocked by this statement that he snapped his head back up and gawked at him. "You don't want to talk about it?"

Phil spoke quickly, once again looking at him out of the side of his eye, "No. I just said that."

Pete gaped at him like he was an alien.

Phil's face went bright red at this and he spun quickly around and began stalking off in the opposite direction. Pete followed him. Phil's steps slowed down when he heard the footsteps behind him, getting louder rather than softer, and turned his head gradually around to give him that pinched expression again. Pete knew that expression well. It was his '_Oh my gosh, you still exist?_' look. It didn't bother him. Phil always came around when he realized Pete wasn't going anywhere. This was an integral part of their routine. Pete welcomed it, basking in the glow and familiarity of Phil's irritation. It meant that he cared, that he wasn't indifferent, that he actively wanted Pete to go away because he found him extremely annoying, and that was… nice.

He should probably seek help. Phil had said so on many occasions, but he had yet to follow the advice. He probably never would. But still, the knowledge that he should was there, whapping him in the face like a flag in a thunderstorm.

Finally, Phil came to a soft stop, continued to stare, and spoke after several seconds, "Pete…"

"Yeah?"

"I said goodbye. I don't want to talk. Leave."

Well, that was straightforward. Pete let out a slow breath, his stomach churning for reasons unknown. Nervousness, probably. Or indigestion. "I just need to get my money out of my locker…"

Which translated to '_Walk me there so I don't die, please and thanks_.' They both knew it. It was a long walk to his locker, fraught with horrors ranging everywhere from bullies to taunters to teenage girls, and there was no way he was walking that without a buddy. As Phil was right there, he was his only viable option right then. As he typically was.

There were kids starting to roam the halls now. He saw as Phil realized this, saw the flash of rage that was quickly boiled down to a more manageable childish sulk, before he, as always, let out a longsuffering sigh and motioned for Pete to follow him.

Pete was at his side in less than a second. Phil was not startled, and they began walking at a measured pace.

As they walked, he noticed Phil looking over his shoulder a lot. This wasn't _exactly_ strange. He could be very anxious… Paranoid, one might say. But not always. Most likely this was because of the whole Mercy-Backpack situation. She was the usual cause of his anxiety. But Pete didn't _really_ want to talk about any of that, he was just surprised Phil didn't, so he held his peace. Phil could get very scary when anything Mercy related came up, and that was saying something, because Phil was not a scary sort. He might talk big, he might glare big, but he was small, with soft eyes and a soft voice and soft… everything else. It took a lot to get '_adorable fluffy puppy_' to look frightening. Pete knew what he was capable of, though, and he had no desire to release the full brunt of that onto the world. Again.

Images of splattered paint, slippery floors, tied shoelaces, glued chairs, and shrieking horrified faces flashed through his mind. Along with the image of Phil grinning, something almost maniacal shining in his eyes that was the complete opposite of friendly. Sadistic. Spiteful. _Free_.

They were not pretty pictures.

Phil speaking snapped him from his thoughts. "Hey, uh…" Pete blinked in surprise and looked over at him, only to be further taken aback by the tentativeness and guilt he'd heard in his tone also present on his face. Oh no. Phil was actually thinking about what he was saying. This couldn't be good. "You… You know I'm not always going to be around." He glanced away, his hands clasping behind his back.

Pete blinked. What.

"I mean, this thing where you follow me around and… It can't go on forever. You need to learn to stick up for yourself."

Pete blinked twice. What, what.

Phil still wasn't looking at him, but the silence seemed to agitate him. His hand started doing this circling thing. Pete couldn't account for it. "_You know_, tell bullies what for, say you're not going to put up with it?"

Pete blinked three times. Wha—

"Oh, for cripe's sake," he whispered on a rushed exhale before suddenly—"_Would you just say something? _I don't care what it is, just _speak!_"

Pete flinched back from the outburst, actually stumbling slightly away as their steps slowed. Eyes wide and unsure behind his glasses, he tentatively opened his mouth.

"And don't say 'okay'!" He glared at him dangerously.

He shut his mouth.

Phil's head lolled back so he could roll his eyes at the ceiling, muttering, "stupid, idiot, stupid," a few times under his breath. He rubbed the back of his neck then and appeared to be trying to summon patience. Pete knew this was a hopeless endeavor, and that he had to act quickly before the frustration set in because it _would_ set in and it would be loud, so he scrambled for the first response that came to mind. Honestly and with no little amount of confusion, he said, "You know I wouldn't stand a chance against any bullies…"

Phil snapped his head around to look at him like he'd grown a second head. "You don't have to 'stand a chance.' You just have to make it clear you won't go down without a fight. If you make it difficult enough for them, they'll start avoiding you. Like with me." He turned his head and made direct, intent eye contact with a couple of his fellow fourth graders, who looked startled and promptly skittered off.

"You get thrown into lockers and trash cans all the time," Pete countered, his voice rising slightly in his befuddlement.

"Yeah, but I don't let it faze me. That's the whole point. When was the last time any of them actually hit me?" Phil looked him pointedly, and Pete was forced to admit that he couldn't remember the last time. Phil waved a hand in gesture, expelling a hot breath out his nose as he nodded. "Exactly. They know if they try to fight me I'll make a huge fuss, so they just do lame things like that as a last resort to insert dominance. Getting thrown into a garbage can's pretty weak compared to some of the junk the rest of you losers put up with." He folded his hands behind his back again as they turned a corner. "It's all about _control_, Pete. It's always like that with people. They can only hurt you if you let them. So…" he looked at him blandly, eyebrows raised, "just make it clear you won't let them."

Pete had zoned out when it became clear Phil was going to lecture him, but the last bit caught his attention. He returned his look with a frown. "By getting the snot beaten out of me?"

Phil sighed harshly. "_Stop_ that. You can't let things like that get to you. It's exactly what they want. The moment you let them intimidate you, they've won. They don't even have to hit you, they've gotten what they want. They can beat every last drop of blood out of you but so long as you don't let them bug you, _you_ win. Get it?"

Pete blinked at him four times as they walked, staring at each other, until finally… "No."

Phil slapped a hand over one side of his face and groaned. "But I _just_ explained it."

"I don't know how to make death not bug me, Phil. I like my blood." He frowned, confounded.

Phil looked suspiciously like he was going to keel over right then from the full-force of his stupidity slamming him in the face. But he didn't, and Pete was relieved. The nurse had developed a bit of a temper after their seventh or eighth visit due to "idiot poisoning," so Pete was kind of scared of what might happen on their thirtieth.

After a few seconds, his eyes came back into focus and he looked at him with his face stretched taut and eyes almost completely closed in their exasperation. "You won't die." He sounded tired.

"But you just said—"

"Look, just." He flailed a little before calming down. It was kind of funny, but Pete knew better than to smile. He looked to be thinking. Finally, he settled on, "My brothers are a good example."

If possible, Pete became even more confused. "Your brothers aren't bullies."

"No, but they do the whole 'intimidation, control freak' thing."

"But… didn't Zack stop some bully once?" He stretched his shirt in his hands nervously. "That's what all the legends say."

Phil groaned, sliding a hand down over half of his face as he slumped. "Oh, come _on_. You can't seriously tell me you believe that crud."

Pete's eyes widened, genuinely interested now. He leaned in eagerly. "Why? Did he say something?"

Phil frowned with distaste and, whether unconsciously or not, distanced himself a few inches as they continued to walk. "No. I've never asked or anything, I just know him. He's got all sorts of tall tales he tells people to make himself seem more impressive than he is. It's exactly what I'm talking about." He combed a hand through his hair since it was starting to feel a little bird-nesty, as his eyes narrowed. "He does this thing with blackmail—I don't want to explain it. It's just stuff he uses to keep people in line. He's like a bully that way. And Josh, well, you know how he is." Shooting a meaningful look at him, and with his hair as good as he felt it was gonna get, he let his hands drop and stuffed them in his pockets. "But it's all pomp. Anything it takes to stay large and in charge, they'll do it, but they're just two doofuses playing king of the hill. That's all it ever is, Pete."

Pete had lost interest after 'I've never asked' so by the end of his speech, he felt wary enough of his friend's fixation on this topic that he had to stop and ask, "Phil, what's this about?"

Phil stopped, too, and looked defensively at him. "I'm trying to help you, obviously. So you'll know how to deal with bullies when I'm not here."

Pete tilted his head at him with a small frown. "But I don't want to be you."

A short silence settled between them, as Phil's eyes flicked somewhere on his shirt.

Pete exhaled. He wasn't used to needing to talk this much. Normally Phil rambled away and he stared and nodded a lot. He didn't like this break in routine. Or any break in routine, if he was being honest with himself. Hesitantly, he said, "You don't… You don't _hafta_ be around 24/7. I can manage okay on my own. Really, I just… I just keep a low profile. You know? It works fine. Don't worry about it." He shrugged. At that point he'd have sung Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in layman's Dutch while bouncing on one hand if it'd get him to stop looking and talking like that. Phil was a notorious worry-wart about things, but it was unusual for him to be that way about him. Weird as it was, he thought he preferred the disgusted glances and not-so-subtle eye rolls. They weren't so unsettling.

Everything in Phil's posture seemed to tighten and then loosen all at once. He let out a breath like he'd been holding it in for a while, as a smile stretched out over his face that didn't look right. "Well, fine, if you're sure. I guess that settles that then." He made a show of dusting off his hands. "It's official! We're not friends anymore, effective immediately."

Pete let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, that's—" He stopped. Phil blinked calmly at him. He narrowed his eyes. "Wait, what?"

"We're not friends anymore," he repeated, almost happily. No, definitely happily. Joyfully. _Giddily_. Parts of Pete's brain crackled and snapped like cheap breakfast cereal. "I felt kinda responsible 'cause you're so pathetic, but this makes things so much easier. Now I can move on guilt-free. Thanks."

Pete's mouth fell open. "Wh… Wha…" Phil raised an eyebrow and he snapped his mouth shut. There were a hundred questions buzzing through his head, but at that moment, all he could get to come out of his mouth was an incredulous, "What are you gonna do? Get a new best friend?"

Both Phil's eyebrows shot up. "A_ new_ best friend? No. That's implying I had an old one."

Pete's heart plummeted.

Phil didn't appear to notice. For a moment, he just looked vaguely confused, but then it cleared away back to that default half-lidded look and he explained, "Something my brother said hit me earlier is all. I was mad at first but then I thought about it. It's actually a pretty good idea. See, I've been bored a lot so I figured, having friends I actually liked being around would be a good place to start fixing that." He snorted. "He says so much dumb stuff, sometimes I forget he can be smart, too." He shook his head ruefully, his eyes bittersweet and focused on some far off place that wasn't with him.

Pete stared.

Phil snapped out of it easily and slipped his hands casually into his pockets. "Yep, well, that's a load of my back. I'll see you at lunch, Pete. You just… keep a low profile or whatever. Bye." With that, he turned around and power-walked down the hall with his head already moving rapidly to keep his surroundings in check, no doubt with Mercy on the brain and Pete already forgotten.

As Phil turned the corner and vanished from sight, Pete continued to stare at the spot he had previously occupied, trying to come up with a logical explanation for how more than five years of friendship could be dissolved in less than five minutes.

* * *

><p>"Shortman!"<p>

Phil jolted. "Brody!" He snapped a scolding look on him and whipped a hand down to flop some of the mayo that had gushed out of his sandwich off. "Man, you really need to stop sneaking up on me! You're shedding years of my life every time you do that. At this rate, I'm gonna die at twenty-five."

Brody grinned as he pulled up a chair beside his old friend and sat his lunch down. He was just giggling out a, "Sorry," when he noticed Phil's sandwich was already half gone and his eyes widened. "Pastrami again?"

Phil nodded, distracted with trying to one-handledy wipe his hand clean on his napkin.

Brody's face scrunched, though his toothy smile remained intact. "Uncle says meat is made of dead stuff. I don't know why anyone would eat dead stuff."

"Sure, sure…" Phil responded blandly, with every intention of just leaving it at that. But then something flashed in his eyes, and he felt suddenly compelled to go on. With a huffy air, he swiped the last remnants of the condiment from his hand with his tongue and said, "_Yeah_, well, Mom always packs it for me. The fridge is always full of it. When something is around long enough, you tend to get a taste for it." He flicked at a container of peas. "And some things, you just get more sick of."

Brody continued to grin. "That sounds weird. You should be a philosopher." He giggled suddenly. "_Phil_osopher. Awesome!"

Phil glanced at him, but Brody wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead he was moving things around on his tray. The mystery lunchmeat was sat in the middle of the table, and the overcooked cheese potatoes mixed in with the brownie. Phil was used to Brody's ways, so he didn't cringe like he used to, but something about the action of brownie mutilation and mashed potato stirring was hypnotizing today.

Finally, he tore his eyes away from it and asked, "Hey, have you ever heard of anyone called Vincent?"

Brody looked at him, eyes wide and intent, but always with that slight glaze, like he was staring at something that wasn't really there. Brody had some sort of mental issue going on that Phil didn't understand (or want to), but he had first-hand experience with bad people. He was being trained by his uncle to fight crime, and had had to take '_Who's a Threat?_' quizzes periodically throughout his life. Normally Phil would laugh at a story like that and call the teller a moron, then go home and be terrified for his life, but he actually knew his uncle. He was crazy and twitchy and liked to hang around the shipping dock to steal bananas from time to time. The guy was harmless, but still, crazy. And completely capable of taking on the role of superhero mentor to his equally whack-job nephew. No matter how ridiculous it looked on paper, Brody was a valuable resource right now.

Brody made a duck face as he absentmindedly mixed his cheesy brownie-potatoes and thought over his question. It didn't take long for him to stop thinking, though, – it never did – and for him to ask, "Why?"

Phil bit his tongue. "Uh… I don't know if I should say."

Brody gave an elaborate _hmph_ and smashed a large portion of brownie on his fork. "Then I don't know if I should tell _you_!" He stuffed the food in his mouth and smacked loudly.

A speck of cheese flew and hit Phil in the cheek. He blinked hard and wiped it off, before releasing a pained groan. "_Fine_. But you can't tell anybody, Brody! Do you hear me?" He dropped his sandwich and pointed his plastic fork at him, his eyes cut as he swung it back and forth in threat. Brody's glazed eyes gained a little more focus and he zeroed in on the utensil with rounded eyes. Phil took this as a good sign and repeated, "You can't tell anyone, okay? Understood?"

Brody blinked, still staring at the now immobile fork in wonder. "Tell anyone what?"

"Perfect. Okay." He dropped the fork back into his lunchbox and ignored Brody's frown. After taking in a deep, measured breath… he exploded in whispers. "I was in a place I wasn't supposed to be for reasons I'm not going to explain and I thought I was alone but it turned out I wasn't. There was another boy there and he was threatening this girl in a really cheesy Italian accent and the girl called him Vin.' He caught me in there with him after he gave her a swirly and I—"

He stopped suddenly as he recalled his crazy attack, and shrunk slightly in mortification. He hadn't had much of a chance to really reflect on it until this moment, and the memory was clear in his mind. That kid had _seen_ him like that. He never let anyone see him like that, if he could help it. The things he must have thought… Swallowing hard, he quickly recovered himself and quietly skipped over, "I mean, he just… he just left after saying he didn't go to this school." He suddenly got excited and rose out of his seat, practically breathless with enthusiasm. "He was faking Italian, Brody. _Italian_! With a really fancy suit and dress shoes. He was just walking around like that. Who does that?" He all but bounced in his seat.

Brody blinked over doe-like eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. "I… I dunno."

Before Phil could be disappointed, a deep female voice came from behind him, "Little Vinny." He jumped in his seat and grabbed at his chest as if he was having a heart attack. The girl appeared beside him not a moment later, serious-faced but with a smile twitching at the side of her mouth.

Phil quickly took her in, from her baseball cap to her filthy t-shirt to her sparkling brown eyes and bouncy black pigtails. Just as quickly, he stiffened, and all joy in his face disappeared like a storm cloud drifting over the sun. "What?"

Vienna Donovan, daughter of Cookie and some no-name baseball player, swung herself around the corner of the table and settled in across from Brody and him. She belonged to the tomboy table across the way, but was sometimes forced to sit at their table due to overcrowding. It was always _her_ forced out when her table got too full, which Phil suspected probably had something to do with her propensity to meddle and gossip. He wasn't the only one who found her insufferable. Not that she had any idea.

After setting her tray down, she replied with quick precision, "Little Vinny. The guys and I have been talking about him. We saw him earlier today, too." She brought a spoon of applesauce up to her mouth and flipped it over onto her tongue. Before swallowing, she smacked, "Who was the girl he threatened?"

"You just eavesdropped on _all of that_?"

"Hey, I was already behind you, and I was curious." She winked. Phil frowned. She snorted. "Oh, come on, Midge, I know stuff you don't. You talk, I talk. Deal?"

He knew arguing with Vienna would be pointless, so he was quicker to relent than was his wont. He knew the more easily he went along with her whims, the less difficult she'd be in fulfilling his own. She wasn't dangerous anyway, she had no problem keeping secrets; she was just vexing, and strange, and manipulative. She always had an ulterior motive, some secret agenda under her belt—but at this moment, her wants went hand-in-hand with his own, so with a sigh, he acquiesced, "Okay. But you have to keep quiet about it. No blimp advertisements or billboard rentals."

Vienna looked affronted at that, as if it even needed to be said, but Phil didn't care. You always had to be very clear with people like her, lest they try to slide their way around any verbal contracts later on if their agendas changed. His fingers twitched just at the thought.

After crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin, he replied with some difficulty, "If you really have to know… it was a campfire lass."

Vienna nodded and looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds, before she asked, "How?"

Phil looked at her dully. "How what?"

"How do you know it was a campfire lass?"

Phil blinked very slowly. "Well… gee, I guess I don't." He pressed the tip of his finger into his cheek. "Do you know anyone else who walks around in a big floppy green hat and spits 'Aye' out every twelve seconds?"

Vienna burst into laughter, spitting potatoes halfway across the table. "Good point, good point! Gotcha, sorry."

He regarded her with a thin line for a mouth. Brody just grinned and heaped more brownie into his mouth.

"Nah, I'm… I'm not surprised," she managed out after getting her laughter under control. "I just wanted to be sure. You jump to conclusions a lot." Phil snorted in indignation but she didn't let him defend himself. Now was not the time for a fight, not with mystery afoot. "No, no… Not surprised. The campfire lasses are a corrupt bunch. It'd be just like them to get involved with a guy like that."

Phil's eyebrows shot up in intrigue as he leaned eagerly forward, his animus from a few seconds prior a thing of the past. "A guy like what? What does he do? Is he a mobster, gang member, candy dealer? And where does he get his shoes? I kind of want them—"

Vienna threw a spoon at him to shut him up. It hit him square in the face and he squeaked, flailing his hands in front of his head. Vienna just blew a raspberry at him and exclaimed, "Conclusion jumping!" He blew a furious raspberry right back and, after locating where the spoon landed, grabbed it and threw it back at her. She ducked it with ease and laughed heartily at his failure. "Ha! Nice try, pipsqueak! But rela—" A handful of peas suddenly hit her in her face and she screamed. "Stop! Stop, stop, stop! I was just gonna say—" A glob of brownie-potatoes landed in her open mouth and she coughed half of it out onto her plate in shock before calming down enough to force herself to swallow. With a surprised blink, she muttered, "Wow, that… was absolutely disgusting."

Brody lit up with delight. "Old family recipe."

Vienna noticed Phil was trying to figure out what to throw next and shoved her hands forward as far as she could in a 'calm down' motion. She tried to grab his hands to stop their scrambling but he snatched them back from her, shooting her a look of disgusted disbelief. She spoke desperately, "_Please_, I was just going to warn you to stay away from him. He's not as bad as you've imagined, and he works alone, but he's still bad."

Phil stopped searching and rolled his head back with a groan. "Criminy, I wasn't gonna _do_ anything. I'm not stupid, he's terrifying—"

"Yes, he really is!" Phil looked surprised at her outburst, and she quickly checked their surroundings before meeting his eyes again. The seriousness in her look caught Phil's attention and he leaned over just in time to hear her whisper, "We heard he kills hamsters for fun."

Phil blinked at her once, almost aggressively, before throwing his head back and belting out a loud, scratchy laugh.

Vienna was the one who squealed in indignation this time as she waved her arms at him angrily. "I'm serious! It's horrible! Dude, that is so not okay!"

"Uh." Three pairs of eyes snapped over to see Pete standing awkwardly a few feet away from the table, looking a little frightened with his toes pointed towards each other beneath bent knees and scrunched shoulders. The sight of him only made Phil laugh harder, which caused Brody and Dolly – who appeared mystically between them – to join in. Phil started at her sudden presence but quickly resumed his laughter. If it sounded a little fake, nobody said anything.

Mostly because the only people who weren't laughing and in a position to notice were flaming mad. Vienna, for Phil making light of the gleeful dispatching of cute fluffy house pets, and Pete because he knew very well he was being used as a punch line for a joke no one was going to bother to let him in on.

Fingers flexing where they were curled around the sides of his tray, Pete hung his head and stared intensely at his mashed potatoes for a while, before coming to a decision. Rather than taking his usual seat next to Phil, he walked around the table and deposited his lunch violently next to Brody.

The clatter attracted the table's attention—Vienna looked shocked, Brody surprised, Dolly delighted, and Phil's expression seemed frozen between his previous amusement and something indiscernible; something almost like offense, more like startlement. Finally, he seemed to settle on indifference, and he was the first to break the odd silence by speaking. To Vienna. As if Pete hadn't just openly dissed him.

"Be serious."

Vienna's lips parted. Her eyes darted between Phil's intent eyes on her and Pete's narrowed ones focusing on his food. Slowly, she replied, "I was being serious…" Shaking herself as she recalled her anger, she turned her attention solely on Phil again and fiercely whispered, "There's all kinds of nasty rumors surrounding him like that. It's not funny! It's awful! They say his dad's a crime boss. Or," she glanced around and leaned in closer, lowering her voice, "he was anyway. He's not around anymore—no one knows why. But he's infamous. Some huge scary guy called Big Gino. Vinny's been trying to walk in his footsteps for years, but he's only recently started… you know."

Phil was enthralled. "Started what?"

Vienna hissed a little and made a small tornado with her hands. "I don't know! Showing up, popping up everywhere?" Glancing around again, she lowered her voice and finished with a sly look, "Threatening campfire lasses?"

Phil was all but jittering with nervous excitement at this point and had to clamp his hands down over his arms to keep them from fluttering around. He chewed his lip as he contemplated this information, his eyes darting around on the table. Dolly took this as the ideal moment to claim her rightful seat beside him, and scooted her chair in close so she could lean her head on his shoulder. He jumped as if she'd electrocuted him and shrugged her off on impulse. "Not now, Dolly, I'm thinking."

Dolly frowned and wheezed her disapproval. After realizing what he'd done, Phil's shoulders stiffened and his eyes went a little round, but otherwise nothing changed. Dolly wheezed on his shoulder a few more seconds before turning to stuff her brownie into her mouth and take a large gulp of her milk. Phil relaxed.

Pete, who had been observing all of this out of the corner of his eye, had to stop himself from groaning in frustration. Some punishment that turned out to be.

Meanwhile, Vienna was blinking owlishly at him. Several seconds passed where nobody said anything. Finally, the moment came that she couldn't restrain her tongue any longer and it whipped out, "You're not gonna do anything weird, are you?"

Phil snapped a strange look on her, which quickly shifted into one of powerful annoyance. "Do wha—Like _what?_ I already told you he's terrifying. Why would I even want to do anything?"

Vienna looked unimpressed, leaned over the table on her arm like that, her eyes halfmast and hat pulled low. "Right."

Phil glared at her. "Yes, _right_."

She still didn't look convinced. "Uh-huh, I heard ya. No need to throw a hissy." Thumping her hat back up off her forehead, she changed her tone to normal and smiled as she said, "I happen to think it's kinda cool myself—Mysterious villain popping outta nowhere, roaming the halls of a school he doesn't go to, Campfire Lasses finally getting what's coming to 'em for trying to sell us stuff—"

All at once the tenseness in Phil's body drained away to jelly and he gustily exhaled, "Oh my gosh, it's so cool…" Vienna raised a sharp eyebrow at him and smirked triumphantly, and he realized with a start that he'd just been tricked. Scowling slightly, he admitted, "Fine, I get it. It's cool, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna approach him. Nobody needs to worry about me doing anything dumb. _I_ worry about _you_, okay? That's how this works, not the other way around."

"Ah, right," she chirped conversationally, a thoughtful look passing over her face as she tapped her spoon against her chin. "I forgot you were a big baby."

Phil's firm expression shifted into one of alarmed defense. "I am not—"

"Oh yeah, _sure_, whatever you say, baby." She stuck her tongue out at him. He stuck his back, and she laughed at the picture he made. "Please, everyone knows you're a huge wuss. Just own it, man, there's no sense fighting it."

Phil stared at her with a tight, pinched expression, his face a lovely shade of red. Beside him, Dolly was busying herself with snapping as many pictures as possible so she could paint it later. Finally, all the color in his face boiled over and he snapped like a piranha, his words fast and harsh, "Look, just because I don't throw myself into the line of fire every chance I get doesn't mean I'm scared, it just means I'm not a suicidal moron. If you want to talk to a real baby, talk to Pete. _I_ at least know how to handle a couple stupid bullies, so there. Torment him." He huffed and flung himself back into his chair with a strong pout.

Pete stiffened and did his level best to develop laser vision on the spot so he could zap his food into ashes.

Vienna's eyebrows were flying somewhere above their heads, her smile so wide it looked almost painful. "Really now? Is that so?" She turned her eyes on Pete, and his face inflamed. Vienna's grin tugged at one side. "You a secret sissy, Pete?"

Pete sunk down low in his seat and kept his eyes glued to his tray.

Vienna was just opening her mouth, no doubt to say something that would make Pete want to dissipate into a dead mist, when the sound of a chair screeching beside her made her freeze.

"Tritan!" Brody yelped, slinging himself halfway across the table and scattering food everywhere. Phil and Pete both flew back in shock.

Tristan Redmond, in all his disgustingly wealthy pretty boy glory, smiled lazily at Brody as he sat down with his tray. His copper hair lightly bounced and swayed as he bobbed his head in greeting. "Yo, Broski, what's kicking?" Brody giggled and ducked back into his seat with a blush. Too starstruck to respond, he pulled his paper hat down over his face and shook his head back and forth.

"Tristan!" Vienna snapped back in her seat and grinned at him. "Where'd you come from?"

Tristan's smile widened when he turned his pale golden eyes on her. "My table."

Vienna snorted out, "Yeah, I know _that_, honey. Why are you _here?_"

"Oh. Right! Yeah, two reasons. Number one is I saw you sitting over here." He leaned in closer to her, eyes glittering in curiosity. "Why didn't you come get me?"

Vienna shrugged. "You just looked like you were enjoying yourself and I didn't wanna bug ya."

Tristan's relaxed smile didn't waver. "You know you could never bug me, baby. I don't care how much fun I'm having, everything's always better with you."

Vienna's face softened. Tristan's shifted to match, and he leaned forward slightly, eyebrows raising in invitation. Vienna took it, and as their faces drifted closer and closer, fireworks burst, new stars were born, and entire solar systems exploded into existence.

Phil chose that moment to start coughing obnoxiously.

Abruptly Tristan snapped his head around and a grin tore at his face, and he leaned over the table so quickly that Vienna met open air and had to scramble back to save face. "Nerdy dude numero uno! Whassup. How's your day been?"

"Horrible and getting worse by the minute." He raised an eyebrow at Vienna's scowling face, then turned his attention back to Tristan with a frown. "Is it really necessary for you to be here? Won't all your sparkly little drama friends miss you?"

Tristan laughed like he'd just been gifted something truly grand. "Nuh, they get it. Wherever Vienna is, I wanna be. Besides, you guys are cool." He shrugged, before his eyes traveled off in thought and his voice lowered. "And I had one other reason, too… What was it?" He looked up and massaged his chin. After a couple seconds, he shrugged and reached over to take a swallow of his milk. "Whatever, I'm sure it'll come to me in a minute."

Phil rolled his eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong with nerdy dude numero two-o?" Tristan pointed to where Pete was staring holes into his mashed potatoes.

"He's a baby," both Vienna and Phil supplied simultaneously. They snapped their eyes on each other a split-second later in surprise, before their eyebrows shot down, eyes silently screeching at the other for having the same thought.

Tristan blinked and squinted at Pete, searching for signs of infancy. "Whoa, really? He doesn't look like a baby."

"That's 'cause his diaper's under his pants," Brody burst out, and Dolly, Vienna and Phil all broke down in snickers.

Pete finally snapped. Chocolate milk splattered across the table as he slammed the carton down and glared at Phil. "Yeah, well maybe I am a baby, but at least I'm loyal!"

Everyone blinked at him, exchanging confused looks. Phil frowned. "Huh?"

"What?" Pete glanced around at them all. "He didn't tell you? Phil's leaving. We're not good enough for him anymore. He's going to go off and get _new_ friends."

A murmur of "what" and "no way" broke out across the table. Phil was still frowning at him.

Vienna looked curiously at Phil and leaned forward, arms spreading out across the table with large eyes. "Oh, man is that true? You're ditching the nerds? For good? But…" a funny, wobbly smile spread across her face, "you _are_ a nerd! This is your designated table. You belong here. You can't just leave."

Phil's frown deepened and centered on her. In a burst of resentment, he yelled, "Uh, yes, I _can_." Brody and Dolly gasped, but Phil was too agitated to notice. "I've never _belonged_ here. I've just never had anywhere else to be." When Vienna's funny smile didn't disappear, he rolled his eyes and leaned over the table, supported on his elbows, to meet her halfway. Looking at her defiantly, he challenged, "You look me in the eye and tell me I belong here."

Vienna's smile only seemed to gain intensity. She met his eyes dead on. "You belong here."

Phil scoffed and drew back.

"No, seriously! We've got a good dynamic going here. See, it's like, Tristan and I are the negligent parents who disappear all the time on extended fabulous vacations," she smiled as she gestured to her and her boyfriend, "Brody's the weird kid brother, Pete's the baby," Pete gawked at her, but she didn't stop, "and you're—" she held her arms out to gesture at him, grinning, "you're, like, the grumpy grandpa or uncle or whatever, who, like, worries excessively and yells a lot."

Dolly's wheezing intensified.

Vienna smirked. "And Dolly's your wife."

Dolly grinned and not-so-subtly fist-pumped under the table.

Meanwhile, Phil's frown was trying to break his face in half. "Look, I don't have to stay here if I don't want to. And the fact is, I don't. I don't care what you say, you don't know me. Just because you've always been stuck in the same place doesn't mean you're meant to stay there. I've never felt like I belonged anywhere outside of my home, and frankly, I'm sick of it." He sent a nasty, sarcastic glare in Pete's direction as he continued, "And just for the record, I wasn't _going_ to tell them, because I didn't think Brody would get it, we all know Dolly's not going anywhere," she preened, but he ignored her, "and these two," he looked on at the couple with disgust, "I've never been friends with either of you, so what do you care? Pete's the only one I really had to explain anything to, because I knew if I didn't, he was going to keep following me around." Pete looked down.

Tristan tilted his head curiously at him. "I always thought of us as friends."

"Oh yeah?" He snorted. "Well, we're not. Surprise!"

Tristan just shrugged and held a hand up. "'Kay, fine, feel that way, dude. You might not consider yourself my friend, but I'll always be yours." He picked his chocolate milk up and toasted it at him. "If you're looking for a new place to chill, you're always welcome at the drama club."

Phil was just about to go off on why that was the worst idea he'd ever heard when Brody tugged at his sleeve. He glanced over, and regretted it immediately when he came eye-to-eye with big, teary brown eyes, fully focused and trained desperately on him. His voice wobbled pitifully, "You can't go, we're your friends. With you gone, it'd be like peanut without butter, nacho without cheese, brownie without mashed potatoes. You can't have one without the other."

Phil's face broke. "Brody, do you even like me?"

There was a pause.

Brody pulled back and averted his eyes. "What kind of question is that?"

Phil tensed. "I… Look, Brody, it's not… It's not you, it's life. It's human nature to grow and want to seek out bigger and better things. I've just changed. It's like… getting a new pair of shoes when the old ones get worn out. That's all it is." He tried to look reassuring.

Brody stood up swiftly with tray in hand, and shook his head. Without a word, he turned around and walked over to the trashcans. Phil gaped after him. Nobody said a word after that, the air too thick to fathom even making an attempt.

Slowly, Phil's head and eyes turned on a new target, and he bit, "_Thanks_, Pete. Just what I needed. More people angry with me for no good reason." Snapping up his lunchbox, he began systematically throwing his half-eaten food into it. Pete's head jerked back like he'd been slapped.

"Whoa, whoa now." Tristan stood up at the same moment Phil did, motioning for him to sit back down. "Calm down, bro, there's no need to be all delicate about it."

Phil's hands, which were making a frenzied attempt at latching his lunchbox closed, suddenly froze. A long moment passed that felt tense to everyone but Tristan, before Phil made his slow reply, "We are not _bros_, and I am not delicate. Whether you approve or not, I'm leaving, so I advise you shut up."

Any normal kid would have gotten angry (like how Vienna was currently glaring daggers through him) or at least upset at the harsh tone of his voice, but because Tristan was an oblivious idiot incapable of understanding that Phil didn't want anything to do with him, he remained unfazed. "Weak sauce, bro. Only delicate people get mad. You're just proving my point." Phil's hands clenched, and Tristan gestured almost lethargically to his fists. "See? That's what I'm talking about."

"Tristan…" Vienna tried to tug him back down.

He stopped her with a hand and rushed whisper, "Shh, shh, it's okay, baby, I got this. I speak geek."

Turning his attention back on Phil, he spoke calmly, "Dude, life has nothing to do with math. Two negatives don't make a positive. You know Anakin would never act like this. This is no way to live long and prosper."

Vienna slapped her forehead.

Meanwhile, Phil finished clasping his lunchbox and kicked his chair back so he could move away. "Oh, yeah, _great_ advice. I'll be sure to take that into account…" he nodded to him as he walked past, oozing sarcasm, "when I'm looking for a new place to sit. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya." He gave a careless salute and started to leave.

Tristan grabbed his arm before he could get far. "Dude—"

Phil yanked his arm away like he'd been burnt. "Don't touch me," he sniped. Snapping back around, he power-walked stiffly into the crowd, dodging flying arms and swerving bodies left and right with nary a thought; every fiber of his being centered solely on getting as far away from the table as possible.

He managed to make it halfway across the cafeteria before Tristan caught up with him. He was at least smart enough not to touch him this time, instead yelling over some nearby laughter as he struggled not to trip over his lagging feet, "Okay, man, I can see you're serious about this—" an arm whacked him in the side of the head, the kid behind him gasping and running away before Tristan could make out his or her face, but he snatched his wits back as fast as he could and continued, "this excursion. That's cool. We all have these little journeys we need to take sometimes. I totally get it." Phil rolled his eyes and kept walking. Tristan followed. "But can you at least let me help you?" he almost pleaded, pulling his jacket tighter. "I mean, it could be hard—"

Phil stopped, and the next thing Tristan knew, there was fifty pounds of seething eight-year-old in his face. "Why? Because nobody likes me? Because I'm annoying and never shut up? Because I'm a loser and my only possible choice of friends has always been and always will be other losers?" His chest heaved with the conclusion of his speech.

Tristan blinked at him, gold eyes wide. "No. I was going to say there's a lot of people in this school and it could be hard to narrow it down."

Phil stared at him for one wide-eyed second before he looked down and backed away. After a few fidgeting moments and an awkward clear of his throat, he asked quietly, "And you want to help me choose?"

Tristan's tired, easy smile came back strong. "Yeah, bro, why not? I know most everyone in this school. I betcha with my help you could find some new friends in no time." Leaning forward slightly, he whispered, Phil having to strain to hear him over the clatter, "Between you and me, I agree you didn't really belong with those other guys."

Phil's voice dipped low in racing skepticism, "_You do_—"

Tristan gave a single nod, up and down, before pinching at the edge of his collar and tugging him away from the crowd. Phil was too caught off guard by the action to protest right off hand, especially since he was being pulled rather quickly and his feet were stumbling over each other in their struggle not to topple him over. Soon enough, they were at the wall, though, and Tristan let go. Phil instantly went to work straightening out his collar and glaring at him.

Tristan, as usual, noticed nothing. "Okay, so before we start, I really have to ask…" he swiveled his torso over and grinned, "sure you don't wanna sit at my table? I think you'd fit right in."

Phil's hand, which had been smoothing down the lines of his plaid shirt for lack of anything else to do, instantly froze. Again. Turning his head to him, he cut his eyes at the taller boy and asked, "And just what do you mean by that?"

"That I think you'd fit in?" He rolled one shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. You can be pretty flamboyant. Always thought it'd make for a good stage presence."

All that was left of Phil's eyes was a small sliver of white and green. "Tristan… the entire English language doesn't contain enough words to express just how much I hate you right now."

Tristan whistled lowly. "Wow, okay. Point taken." He straightened and looked out over the cafeteria, as Phil muttered, "That's a first," under his breath. "So where do you wanna start?"

Phil glanced around a little boredly. "I don't know. Are there any nerds in this school who are actually smart?"

"The other nerds aren't smart?" Tristan raised an eyebrow at him in surprise.

Phil spoke absentmindedly, eyes still perusing the cafeteria's inhabitants, "Pete is of average intelligence, Brody is well below average, and Dolly—I have no idea. Knowing her, she's probably a secret super genius, but since she never talks, that doesn't count for much." And was actually terribly inconvenient.

"You've never talked to your own girlfriend before?" The eyebrow went higher.

Phil shrugged. It wasn't something he thought Tristan would understand, so he didn't bother to explain that they weren't really _in_ a relationship, except in Dolly's imagination. The fact that Dolly could be anywhere nearby, listening intently to their every word, had nothing to do with it. Really.

He clasped his hands.

"Okay, well…" Tristan thought that over, eyes back to their skimming. "Hm. I don't know."

"That's unsurprising." Phil sighed, leaning back against the wall hopelessly.

"No, we'll figure this out, don't worry." Tristan waved a hand back at him without looking, nearly whacking Phil in the nose. Phil snapped his head back with a fast blink and startled frown. "What about little Mercy Laporte and the other girls?"

Everything in Phil seized up and his response came naturally, from somewhere deep in his soul, "_No_." Once that was out, logic crashed down on him and he had to snap a skeptical glare on Tristan. "Why would you even suggest that? First you suggest the dancy, prancy, musical morons and now a bunch of girly girls? Just what are you trying to say?"

Tristan looked at him curiously. "I just see you guys together a lot, that's all. Which is sorta weird, since they're really popular, and you're—"

Phil interrupted him, "Yeah, yeah, I get it—"

Tristan went on, looking over at the girl's table with interest, "Thinking about it, they'd actually be really good as new pals for you, 'cause then you'd be exposed to a lot of other kids. I mean, yeah, they're girls, but as a starting point, why not. You dig?"

Phil had never wanted to smash his skull through a brick wall more than at that moment. Rather than follow through with the urge currently screaming through his every molecule, he muttered, exhausted with the effort not to seriously injure himself, "I'm not interested in popularity, Tristan. I just want some people I can relate to. People who are like me. You know?"

Tristan stiffened suddenly, and Phil stiffened with him. It was clear he'd gotten an idea, and one that he wasn't too keen on. Phil eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

Tristan's eyes slid over to him, his expression giving away nothing. "What about… them?" He pointed.

Phil thought pointing was kind of stupid, considering how full the cafeteria was. No matter where you pointed, there were at least three tables in that general direction, so there was no way he'd be able to tell who he was referring to just from—His eyes locked on a table full of boys obnoxiously laughing and making stupid faces at a couple girls walking past. Or more specifically, one boy currently pushing another's face into their mashed potatoes. Phil's jaw dropped.

"_Bald Kid?_"

Tristan was frowning a little at him, with the slightest of creases between his eyebrows, but for the most part, his face was cautiously blank.

Phil dragged his eyes away from the table only long enough to fix Tristan with a wide stare. "But he's a—They're bullies."

Tristan's eyes sauntered away, and he stuck a finger deep into his hair to clear an itch at the side of his head. "You… act a lot alike."

Phil's eyes were snapping between Bald Kid and him, until finally settling on Tristan. His face was blank. "Uh, Tristan, I don't know if you've noticed, but he hates my guts." Tristan didn't speak, and was still looking away—looking away in a manner that implied he believed he was right and felt awkward about it, so Phil felt the need to raise his voice to get through to him, "He made fun of me in class, called me a big-mouthed brat, threatened my life, and threw me in a locker! And that was just _today!_"

Tristan still wasn't looking at him.

Phil huffed, thinking this all manner of ridiculous, and ran his eyes around the cafeteria with renewed fervor. "No, I'm not befriending a bunch of bullies. There's got to be someone else. We've still got half an hour until lunch is over. That's plenty of time. See, there are those freaks with the spoons on their noses; those boys obsessed with bugs and lizards—I could work with that. And look, there's even—Dad."

Tristan snapped his eyes on him. "What?"

"Dad," Phil repeated, still in a monotone, eyes zeroed in on the large, football-headed figure across the room. "My dad. My dad is here… My dad is never here." His breath spiked and he grabbed at his hair. "Why is my dad here?"

Tristan gave a loud, "Oh!" and slapped himself on the side of the head with a laugh. "That's the other thing I was trying to remember! _Right_. Haha. Okay, yeah—your old man walked in. Everyone's been talking about it. Pretty cool, huh?" He smiled.

Metal squealed when Phil turned his head to look at him. His face was tight, muscles wound, teeth gnashing. "You… He… But…"

Tristan was still smiling.

In an instant, his collar was in Phil's fists and he was being yanked down onto his knees. Phil whispered in a garbled rush, "You've known my dad was in here this whole time?" He shook him. "You volcanic zit on the surface of the universe! He's been eating lunch in his room for over a decade and out of nowhere decides to waltz in here, and that just _slips your mind?_" He grabbed his head and shook it, pressing his ear up against the side of his head with one eye squinted shut. "Is there anything in this or is it just for show? I've always wondered, and darn if I didn't just get my answer."

Tristan gaped into space. "Bro, what—"

Phil threw him down in disgust and wiped his hands off on his shirt. "No… No, death is too good for you. I should've known better." He waved a finger between them, gesturing to his chest and Tristan's. "We no longer associate. Don't forget that, too, or there's gonna be problems." Leaning down with green eyes bright and teeth bared, he hissed, "_Remember_."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the table his dad was currently occupying. Tristan sat on the floor in shock, rubbing his head.

Exactly ten seconds later, Phil's hands slammed down on his dad's table. Everyone jumped, except for the one he wanted to have words with.

Arnold, who had been in the middle of a conversation with the little goth girl to his right, turned his eyes calmly upon him. Then his face lit up. "Phil, hey. What were you doing with Tristan?" His eyes flicked between his son's frowning face and Tristan's bewildered one across the room. It made Phil want to grab the table up and whack him in the chin.

Since that was not within his ability, he instead yelled and waved an arm in Tristan's direction, trying to block his dad's view, "Why are you in here? What's going on? Who's dead?" His face was steadily turning white with dread.

The goth girl to Arnold's right looked at him with a small smile. "Someone died?"

"No," Arnold said firmly, making sure to look Phil in the eye as he did, "no one is dead, and nothing is going on. I just… felt like having some company today." He smiled reassuringly, eyes glowing with warmth. "Everything is fine."

The goth girl deflated and turned her attention back to her food. "Bummer."

Phil didn't buy it. His arm dropped and eyes squinted, pointedly ignoring all others at the table. "What happened to all that stuff about lunchtime being a break away from books and teachers?"

"Well, these lovely young ladies don't seem to mind my company," Arnold charmed, casting a wide smile around the table. All the girls blushed but one.

"Uh," the one spoke up, "I'm a boy."

Before Arnold could reply with something that would no doubt make everything better, Phil raised his voice, "Dad, don't lie to me."

That sobered Arnold. His smile dropped at the serious tone, and unknowingly, he matched his look. "I'm sorry. You're right. I did come in for a different reason." He smiled again, but it was slight. His fingers came together in a resting steeple on the table. "And that reason was you. After this morning, I thought it would be prudent to… keep an eye on things." He shrugged, trying to keep the subject light as they were in company.

Phil stared at him, and apparently didn't get the memo, because he then stated rather dramatically, "You don't trust me."

Arnold's firm look was back. "No. I did not say that. I just wanted to—"

"You don't think I can handle myself," Phil interrupted him, his expression strange. Arnold gave a disapproving look at being talked over, but Phil was gone. His eyes steadily narrowed. "You think I'm gonna pull something if you don't monitor me. You think I'm going to get into another fight, even after I told you I wouldn't."

Arnold stared this time, and said nothing to refute his accusations. His look was blank, unreadable. Everyone was silent. Finally, he gently asked, "What else am I supposed to think, Phil?"

The question was like a blow to his stomach, but Arnold wasn't finished. "This has been going on for too long. You've told me before that you'll stop, but you never do. I can see how this upsets you, and I want to help. I'm just here to keep watch. That's all."

Phil barely heard him. "You—You big—"

The goth girl beside him put a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't talk back again—"

Phil pulled himself violently out of her grip on instinct, unknowingly throwing himself against the goth on his other side. The girl's hands went around his arms in surprise, and she looked down at him in interest. "He's pretty feisty for a little guy."

The goth beside her inhaled deeply. "He has the air of darkness about him. It smells like…" she breathed heavily, "mint tea and choco puffs."

"Yeah, like," the goth currently holding his stiff form went on, "he kinda looks like a five-year-old, but maybe I'm into that?"

Phil pulled himself away from her in abject horror, and stared dumbfounded a moment before snapping a crazed look on his dad. "This is all your fault!"

Arnold met his eyes sympathetically, though his shoulders remained strictly rigid, his body language authoritative. "Phil, don't—"

"No!" Phil began walking backwards, slowly, keeping his eyes locked wide and angry on Arnold. "I can handle myself, you can't control me! I don't need this! I have my own mind! I know…" he glared, a fair way away from the table now, "I know what I'm doing."

Not waiting for a response, he turned around and lost himself in the crowd, heading purposefully in the direction of Bald Kid's table.

His dad didn't think he was capable of dealing with a few girls in a mature and nonviolent manner, all his teachers thought he was a criminal in the making, Josh thought so long as his mouth was open he was looking for trouble, Vienna thought he could only ever belong to a group of losers and wannabes, and Pete thought he was a huge jerk for wanting to be around people he liked. All of them believed that he was a weak-kneed little twerp who knew nothing but how to get himself tossed into lockers, do math homework and cause issues.

And Mercy and her minions all thought much, much worse, and had been doing so for as long as he could remember, along with about 98% of the school.

Well, fine. If that's what they thought, maybe he did belong with a bunch of bullies. Maybe this had always been the inevitable conclusion. After all, biting his tongue around Mercy always had been next to impossible, and he was already at his wit's end with Mrs. Freitag. Why was he even fighting it?

As he neared the table, their loud conversation drifted to his ears over the cafeteria chatter, "You're kidding!"

"Wish I was. Can you believe that pest, calling me Dumbo?"

Phil stopped mid-step, foot in the air, only a couple steps away from them.

"Psha, yeah, like he can talk with that hair. He walks around every day with a beacon on his head that his mom cheated on Mr. Shortman and still thinks he can look down on everyone else? What a brat."

Phil spun neatly on his heel and began walking away.

Oh well, he tried.

"Oh, look! Speak of the devil!" He heard a chair screeching against the floor, but it only increased his pace. The large hand clapping down on his shoulder stopped him, though, albeit with a wince.

Bald Kid grinned down at him wolfishly. "We were just talking about you."

"That's nice." Phil attempted to pull away, but Bald Kid held tight.

His friend pulled up on his other side, his smile even less friendly. "Yeah, about how cool it was of Mr. Shortman to pop in today."

"Well," Phil muttered, receding in on himself, "it's not _that_ cool."

"Considering you're here? It is so." His smile was sharp. "It's gotta be hard for him to look at you."

"Yeah, with how crazy he is about his wife," Bald Kid added in, his smile widening as he leaned over. Phil leaned forward to avoid his look, painfully aware of the fingers digging into his shoulder. "And yet he still treats you like his own. What a guy."

Phil's teeth clenched very obviously, but the two's grins didn't dim.

"Hey, I've got an idea," the friend's gray eyes sparkled silver, "why don't you come sit with us for a while?"

Phil looked incredulously at him. "Why would I do that?"

Bald Kid seemed to be thinking the same thing, but his look was more intrigued as it settled on his friend.

His audience laying in wait, the black-haired boy shrugged and swayed innocently on his feet. "Well, I just figured it's gotta be hard being the bad egg, with your family being who they are and all. I really feel for ya, I do. We know what it's like to be misfits. Don't we… Bald Kid?" He licked his lips and looked BK in the eye. His right eye twitched oddly.

Bald Kid's eyes darkened, but still, he smiled. "Yeah, you know? We do. Maybe you and I just got off on the wrong foot, shri—I mean, Phil." His face softened.

Phil looked between the two. This couldn't be possible. His eyes narrowed. "I don't think—"

"There's a good boy." Bald Kid jerked him around and began walking him back to the table. Phil stumbled over himself a couple times, but soon got with the program and kept pace with him. It wasn't like he could do anything else at the moment.

Unconsciously, his eyes flicked towards his old table and caught Tristan's eye where he sat watching him beside Vienna. The others were trading looks with each other and exchanging words, but Tristan grinned at their eye contact and gave a big thumbs up.

Phil wanted to throw him off a bridge.

As it was, he was forced down into a chair between Bald Kid and his companion, at a table full of kids who could snap him in half if they wanted to. Phil wasn't usually afraid of people, but even he wasn't immune to being thrust into a tank of sharks. He gulped.

BK leaned forward eagerly as soon as they were settled. "So what's it like having the illustrious Zack Shortman for a brother?"

"Or Joshua Miles Shortman?" Silver Eyes leaned forward as well, eyes wild.

Phil sunk down in his seat, wriggling his captive shoulder. It didn't budge. His eyes nearly rolled into his head as he groaned, "They're… stupid."

Silver Eyes scoffed. "And you're so flipping smart."

"My big brother plays video games with Zack sometimes," BK boasted, his eyes flashing smugly. "He gave me glow-in-the-dark star stickers once."

"Yeah? Well, my little sister's in the same kindergarten class as their little sister and they can't stand each other," Silver Eyes threw back with a fire that quickly went out when he realized how weak his return attack was.

"Star stickers," BK sing-songed. Silver glared.

Wow, Phil hated them. "Can you let me go now?"

BK and Silver shared a look, then Silver's trailed off somewhere.

"Mm-no," Silver finally decided. "Not yet."

Phil looked at him strangely, but BK quickly distracted him by practically shoving his grin into his face. "You haven't told us what it's like to have two of the most popular kids in elementary and middle school as brothers?"

Phil's voice was like sandpaper when he replied, "I just told you they're stupid, isn't that self-explanatory?"

"Oh, come on!" Silver whined. "What kind of stuff do they do? What kind of stuff does Zack let you get away with when he babysits? Or what does Josh do in his off time?" Silver choked and suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes feverishly bright. "_What does Josh do in his off time?_"

Phil reeled back as far as he could in revulsion. "Tries to come up with new and inventive ways to kill himself, that's what! Stares at himself in the mirror, hogs the bathroom, bugs me as much as possible—I don't know what you were expecting. And Zack hasn't been allowed to babysit in years, so I really don't know! Now _get off_."

Silver backed off while BK hummed in amusement. "Ahhh, that's right. Didn't he throw that party—"

Phil's pupils suddenly dilated and he swiftly interrupted, "We don't speak of that night."

He was just as swiftly ignored. "Ooooh, yeah, your bro went to that, didn't he?" Silver's tongue curled around his smiling upper lip. "I heard that was like the greatest party in history. They flipped all the furniture upside down, ordered every type of pizza, and tossed some kid on the roof—"

Phil surged forward and pulled himself out of BK's weakened grip with nothing but adrenaline. Springing to his feet, he shouted at them, "We don't speak of that night!"

Bald Kid stood up as well, hands poised to grab, but Silver waved him down with two fingers waving over his throat. BK got the message, and only pretended that he was going to grab him, which predictably caused Phil to stumble back from the table in a frenzied panic. Like a line of dominos, the scene played out to perfection before them.

A sharp gasp sounded behind Phil, and he turned just in time to see Georgia 'trip' and splatter a whole pot of mashed potatoes on him. The sound of the pot clanging obnoxiously on the ground where Georgia went down on her knees alerted the whole cafeteria something was going on, and the noisy chatter of a bustling and happy lunchroom immediately ceased. All eyes turned to the sound.

Phil stood deathly erect with arms held out at his sides, dripping with cheese and watery potatoes.

There was a hush. Then, Silver giggled.

The sound fell over the silence like a wave and brought everyone else laughing with it, painfully, fingers pointing and fists banging and feet stomping as the room exploded in activity.

Phil gaped down at Georgia, his chest rising and falling quicker and quicker with each stomp and chuckle and clap. She just blinked calmly up at him, face utterly devoid of emotion.

Mercy spoke up then from the wall separating the eating area from the pickup area, Phil's eyes zipping to her almost too fast to see, "Oops."

Phil's world went hazy, heart stuttered and breath spiked. "Oh no." He quickly turned and began racing for the door. "Oh no oh no oh no oh no—"

The doors were just swooshing shut behind him when Arnold yelled, "Phil!" He was out of his seat in a flash and out his door quicker than any of the goths could process. The display caused the laughter to dull a bit in some places, but otherwise stayed strong for a good bit afterwards.

It also had the effect of Mercy shooting a scathing look on Bald Kid as she helped Georgia from the floor. "Mr. Shortman was in here this whole time? Why didn't you warn us?"

BK raised an eyebrow at her, still shaking a little from his laughing fit. He coughed out with one final, weak chuckle, "Like I could have. You know I'm not allowed in the back. Georgia's mom gets mad when she catches me."

Mercy marched up to him daintily, Georgia on her heels like a too-tall shadow. Once before him, she flicked a cold finger under his chin and lifted her own into the air. "Then don't get caught, _Bardolph_."

Bard frowned at her use of his full name, rubbing his chin. "We thought Mr. Shortman would appreciate it. You know he's just chasing after him out of obligation. He's too nice a guy for his own good, but I know he enjoyed it. He must've."

"Yeah, how could he not?" Silver added helpfully, earning nods from the rest of the table.

Mercy huffed and waved them off with a tiny, polished hand. "Whatever. Just be glad we made it look like an accident, or else we'd _all_ be in trouble." She gazed at them coldly, dropping the atmosphere by a few degrees with just the turn of her mouth. "You had better warn us next time. Agreed?"

Bard and Silver passively nodded, and Mercy was satisfied.

"That was a really good prank, Merc—" Bard began, but was curtly cut off.

"Of course it was." She threw a stiff piece of hair over her shoulder. "But Midge has always been easy to upset. A good prank, but not our best."

"Yeah," Georgia agreed.

Mercy nodded back to her. "We need to up our game. Of course, the best time to get him is when he's pretending he's 'better than us and doesn't want to stoop to our level,' " she used air-quotes and rolled her eyes painfully, "but who knows how long he'll last this time? We need to work quickly." She gave a single flipping wave to them as she turned. "No time to chat, Bard and friend, we have much to do."

Bard waved stupidly after her. Silver remained stoic.

After the girls had sashayed and clip-clopped back to the kitchen and out of sight, Silver turned to Bard with a scowl. "Boy _howdy_, what an ice queen! How she has any friends I'll never know. Freaking jerk." He humphed. "Bard and friend. _Right_."

Bard just sighed and rested his cheek on his hand.

* * *

><p>"Phil," Arnold called, working to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible purely out of habit as he sped down the hall. "Phil, come back! Where are you? Please come out!"<p>

Stopping at the end of the hall, he looked around. He'd checked the bathroom, the playground, the closet, even the trashcans and a few lockers, but he was nowhere to be found. He scratched his head and murmured, "Where could he have gone?"

This wasn't the first time Phil had run off and gotten himself lost. He had always been sneaky, and small, to boot. If he didn't want to be found, he seldom was. But Arnold couldn't just give up. If there was one thing he'd learned in his life, it was that leaving a Pataki alone with their thoughts was one of the worst things you could possibly do. Phil was a Shortman through and through, but the Pataki in him was just as strong, if not stronger. And that was a frightening thought, especially since both of their bloodlines had a good bit of instability in them. He let out a slow breath at the thought, working to move past his worry and focus on the task at hand.

"If I was humiliated and wanted to be alone… someplace safe where no one would think to look for me…" he muttered, wandering down a row of classroom doors, "where would I go?"

He stopped suddenly and sighed. "The most obvious place possible, of course."

The door creaked faintly as he pushed it open, hand steady and sure on the handle. A desk sat conspicuously at the other end of the room by the eraser board, all the desks lined in neat rows and jackets hung on the hooks by the door. Arnold shut the door with care, before walking calmly over to his desk, the nameplate shining "Mr. Arnold Shortman" in the afternoon sun. Pushing the chair back, he leaned over and came eye to eye with Phil, staring with glowing green eyes and open mouth.

He was also still soaked. Arnold frowned at him. "Phil…"

He flinched at his gentle tone and tore his eyes away.

Arnold's concern came rushing back with a vengeance. This was more serious than he thought. Of course he'd known the girls pulled pranks on him, too, but to actually see it happen, and how strongly Phil had reacted, was something else. Pushing the chair farther back, he kneeled down on the floor and watched him for a little bit. After some time where he avoided his eyes, Arnold uttered, "Will you look at me?"

Phil didn't, but he did mumble, "I can handle myself."

Abruptly, Arnold moved back and opened a drawer. The movement was so sudden that Phil snapped his eyes on him, staring out of the corner of his eye as Arnold pulled out a roll of paper towels. Once the drawer was shut, he tore off a couple and moved to wipe Phil's cheek, mouth opening to speak—

Phil's hand flying up stilled his hand, and effectively, his mouth. His eyes were hard as he tore the paper towel from his hand and wiped the remnants of potato and the memory of his dad's touch from his cheek with the back of that same hand. "I can handle," he whispered fiercely, "myself."

Arnold stared at him, something hot flashing in his eyes. "You can't do things like this alone, Phil, not at your age. I'm your dad and I care about you. Let me help." He extended his hand for the paper towel. When Phil just pushed himself deeper under the desk, Arnold's look softened, the flashing dimming to a soft ember. He lowered his hand. "I understand how you feel—"

"How can you?" Phil's harsh tone smashed into his as he scowled at the floor. "You don't know what it's like being tortured day in and day out, without relief. And everyone thinks they're so great, and I only retaliate every once in a while and yet somehow _I_ always end up the bad guy? _I'm_ the only one who ever gets yelled at? It's not _fair_." He roughly ran the paper towel down his arm and glared at the potato that wiped off onto the towel.

"No, it's not," Arnold gently intoned.

Phil looked at him, startled. Arnold smiled with a bit of sadness, a bit of amusement, and complete understanding as he held out his hand again. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up, and we'll talk about this, okay?"

Phil eyed that hand, flicked his eyes between it and his own, vulnerable. He took it.

Arnold pulled him out from his makeshift cave and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Once he was out, he gave his face a more thorough wipe-down, before moving on to his clothes. Upon inspection of the soiled garments, he sighed, hands gripping the edges of his green and plaid shirts. "Well, we're going to need to get you out of these. The pants should be passable… I keep a spare change of clothes in one of these drawers, since the last time Zack… Well. The shirt'll be too big, but it'll have to do. You get undressed and I'll find them." He moved to do just that, but Phil stayed him with a hand on his arm.

"That's okay, I…" his grip tightened a moment, before releasing, "I have some spare clothes, too."

Arnold raised his eyebrows. "You do?"

"Yeah, I, uh… learned." He looked away.

For reasons that would have been unknown to Phil — so it was a good thing he wasn't looking – that made Arnold smirk. Clearing the look from his face quickly enough, he turned back to him and sat the paper towels down on his desk. "Well, okay. Where are they?"

"In my locker."

Arnold frowned as it sunk in what that would mean, not particularly liking the idea of leaving Phil there to go get them, and not too sure how willing Phil would be to leave the classroom at that moment. Phil seemed to realize the same thing, because his eyes widened a split-second before he sighed and held out his hand. "Just give me the stupid shirt."

Once Arnold found it, he did. It was way too big, cutting past his knees and the arms puffy and needing to be bunched up around his elbows, but otherwise he looked decent. Adorable, actually, but Arnold wasn't about to say that. Instead he smiled and ran his hand through his hair a few times to tame it, and hunched over to needlessly dust off his shoulders. "There we go. Clean and dry, like it never happened. Yeah?" He smiled at him.

Phil met his eyes cautiously. "This isn't the part where you lecture me now, is it?"

Arnold abruptly stood back up just so he could fall back into his chair with a sigh. He gestured to the other chair by his desk. "Just sit, Phil."

Phil didn't have to look to know to what he was pointing. "Aw, the 'bad boy' chair? But I don't have my leather jacket handy—"

Arnold's eyes flashed again. "Phil."

Phil sighed, looking weary and much too young for Arnold's peace of mind, before obediently walking around and sitting himself in the chair. He folded his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead.

Arnold leaned forward, making sure he looked relaxed so Phil would know he wasn't in any real trouble here. He still wasn't looking at him, though, so he felt the need to say, "I'm not angry with you. I'm just… confused." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's start from the beginning, okay?" Phil offered no protest, so after a moment, he asked, "Why did you run off like that?"

He exhaled slowly. If it was a little shaky, Arnold didn't say anything. "I just… wanted to prove you wrong, by… proving you right, I guess." He looked down at his hands and mumbled, "I don't know why I did it, I wasn't thinking."

Arnold's eyes narrowed in confusion and he sat back in his chair. He replayed the instance in his head to try and understand, "You went and sat with Bard and—"

"Bullies," Phil corrected sharply. "I went and sat with bullies, 'cause that's what you think I am. That's all anyone thinks I am."

Arnold was speechless. They both sat there quietly for a while, as Arnold tried to wrap his head around his words and Phil sulked. He tried to imagine Phil stomping around glaring at everyone and hissing every foul word in the book, but it didn't fit with the image he knew of him, of hiding under the blankets during thunderstorms and shaking when he thought he saw an owl and scolding his brothers for not taking their shoes off when they came inside. Finally, he had to just shake his head incredulously and deadpan, "Phil, I don't think you're a bully. I've never thought that about you. Mischievous, quick to anger, maybe a little…" _or a lot_, "misguided, but never a bully."

Phil muttered, "You don't trust me. You don't think I can make my own decisions and believe my opinions aren't worth anything. You want to control me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Arnold snapped a hand out without thinking and placed it on his shoulder, keeping it there softly so he could shrug it off if he wanted, "where is all this coming from?"

Phil just frowned at his hands, his face pinkening. His shoulder felt hot under his hand.

Arnold watched him with a pained, worried expression, mouth turned down, eyebrows furrowed. Quietly, he slowly said, testing the waters, "This is about the girls…" Phil's flinch and pulling back confirmed it for him, and he wordlessly removed his hand and placed it on his knee. To open the conversation, he asked, "Did you ever ask what you did wrong?"

"I tried."

"You… tried?"

Phil's frown turned into a glare. "Let's just say I didn't get any answers and leave it at that, okay?"

Arnold pursed his lips, debating whether or not to pursue the topic or move on. He had been thinking about this all day since their talk this morning, culminating in his decision to go down to the cafeteria that had the exact opposite effect of the one intended. So far, telling him not to stoop to their level didn't work; instructing him on the proper way to treat girls and people in general didn't work; telling him he was just provoking them didn't work; and Helga's idea of telling him girls had cooties and he had to stay far away backfired horrendously. It was time for a new strategy.

So with a deep breath, he said, "I'm not trying to undermine your opinion or thoughts when I tell you to ignore them. I know that the things they do and say are annoying and hurtful, and that makes you want to lash back. It's instinctive, and you feel like because I'm always lecturing you about this, that you're the only one getting in trouble and that's not fair. I understand that all perfectly. But, Phil…" he leaned forward to try and meet his eyes, supporting himself by his elbows on his knees, "can't you see that's exactly what they want? To get under your skin? By allowing them to upset you like this, they've gotten exactly what they were shooting for. Your attention. Your reaction." He paused a moment, allowing that all to sink in, before concluding, "I'm not trying to control you, Phil. They are."

Phil was still as a statue. Blinking, and with a strange look, he finally met his eyes. He didn't speak, but everything in his face seemed to imply he was deeply confused. Even still, he could see it crystal clear in his eyes, in the quirk of his mouth, in the eyebrows currently on the ceiling—his point had hit home. _Finally_.

Arnold smiled a little ruefully, reading his thoughts. "Once upon a time, I _was_ your age, you know. I had a girl picking on me growing up, too."

Phil's already high-flying eyebrows shot for the stars. "You _what?_"

He sounded almost offended. Biting back a grin, Arnold had to wonder why he didn't ever bring this up before, and then remembered Helga's "no shrine, poetry or stalking talk" rule. Technically, he wasn't revealing any of that, though, so he continued, "Yeah. She was always calling me names and pushing me around. Spitballs, paint, punching gloves in my locker, pudding in my chair, pouring glue and feathers on my butt and calling me a bird. You name it, she did it."

Phil stared at him. "Why haven't you ever told me this before?"

_Because Helga would kill me_. "It never seemed important until now. Now, I think you have a right to know."

"And…" Phil hesitated, before stating, "that's why you think they like me. That girl ended up having a crush on you."

_Actually she passionately worshiped and revered me. _"Yes. That's why I have trouble getting mad at them. But I've been where you are before, and I know…" He sighed. "You're not the only one who's reached the end of their rope and gone after revenge before."

Phil looked gobsmacked, again. "You…"

Arnold nodded.

"_You got revenge?_"

Arnold nodded again.

Phil blinked several times, quickly. "But… you're my dad."

Arnold had to smile at him for that, affectionately. "Yes, I am. But I was also a kid once. I had my limits, my… weaknesses. I've done plenty of things I'm not proud of. I once almost assisted in a burglary because I wanted to be cool," Phil's eyes bugged, "I played hookey," Phil's jaw dropped, "I once learned karate and terrorized a bunch of people with it," Phil's eyebrows were on mars now, "I once was one of the main characters in a play and skipped out on it, on purpose, because I didn't like the director," Phil nearly fell out of his chair, "and once, I spilled paint on a girl who picked on me all the time because she spilled it on me, pulled a mean prank on her that temporarily blinded her, and even manipulated her into a false sense of security before throwing her into a pool and declaring her the king of fools in front of the entire elementary student body." He shrugged, unfazed and unsurprised by Phil's dull shock. "I'm not perfect, Phil. I never have been. I did all those things, and I always felt awful about them afterwards. They're my regrets, but I learned from them. What you're going through now is hard, I know, but it's also completely normal. These feelings are all just a part of growing up. So long as you follow your heart and do what you know is right, things will turn out right in the long run. You'll see."

The next thing he knew, Phil was slamming into him, his arms wrapped like a vice around his middle and head buried in his chest. Arnold was so caught off guard that for a moment, he could do nothing but sit there, but then he wrapped his arms around him back and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, it's okay… Phil?"

His voice was muffled as he said, "Never tell anyone I did this," before burrowing himself in deeper.

Arnold smirked, softly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Minutes passed that Arnold didn't care to keep track of, where he continued to sit and rub circles into his son's back, until the trembling stopped and Phil's arms began to relax. Just as quickly as he'd smashed into him, he snapped back and dusted himself off with a few convenient coughs. "Yeah, well, that's enough of that."

Arnold rolled his eyes.

He was at least glad he was back to normal. All traces of fragility were nowhere to be seen, like they'd never been there to begin with. He smiled as Phil completed his task and folded his arms over his chest, eyes high and head tilted back as he sighed, "I really don't think they like me like that, though." Arnold raised an eyebrow, and Phil didn't need to see him to know he did. "I don't. I've never understood this idea that hate must equal like. It doesn't make any sense."

"Then why are you their sole target?"

Phil stared at the ceiling. Then he shrugged. "Girls are crazy. Who knows? Maybe I scuffed their shoes in kindergarten."

Arnold snorted and couldn't help getting a little dry, "All right. So everyone hates everyone, no love lost between you?"

Phil's eyes zipped to his in surprise. "Hate… You can hate girls?" A beat. "But isn't that illegal?"

Arnold stared at him. Well shit. "Uh… no, it's not illegal." He quickly added, "But that doesn't mean you should do it."

Phil thought that over, before nodding in satisfaction. "Okay. Then I guess I hate them."

Arnold suddenly looked very his age, and sighed out in exasperation, "Phil—"

Phil held up a hand to stop him. "Dad. Mercy is heartless, Georgia is soulless, and Adalynn is brainless. They've given me nothing but reasons to hate them, even outside of the torture. The 'Oh, they pull pranks on each other, they must be secretly smitten' jokes are funny and all, but only because they're nuts. It's like saying there's macaroni on the ceiling."

Arnold blinked and looked up. "There is macaroni on the ceiling."

Phil's head snapped up. "Huh?"

"Art project gone wrong."

"Oh." He looked perturbed a minute, but then sat back down in his chair and folded his arms tighter, chin held stubbornly high. "Well, whatever. My statement stands. I hate them. Can't help it. It's out of my hands."

Arnold moved his head to rest his chin in his hand, forefinger erect along his cheek as he stared at Phil. Phil stared petulantly back, daring him to admonish him for a perfectly reasonable emotion.

The bell ringing snapped them out of their impromptu competition, and Phil jumped up from his seat like he'd been shot.

He looked so terrified, Arnold had to chuckle and place a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, calm down. Only a few hours left until school's out and you get a nice extended weekend to catch fish and stare at the stars. Everything will be fine."

"A few hours," Phil muttered under his breath. Or maybe grumbled. It was a little hard to tell.

Arnold stood, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he did. "We'll talk more about this next chance we get. For now, students are gonna start pouring in in a minute and you—"

"Need to get to class, I know," Phil groaned. Another few hours of sitting bored in class while Mrs. Freitag droned on about all manner of things he already knew and Mercy breathed down his neck.

Arnold smirked and squeezed his shoulder. "You'll live."

Phil huffed. "Says _you_."

With a final chuckle and some speedy assistance in tucking in his shirt, he sent him on his way. As soon as the door clicked shut, his smile dropped and he ran a hand through his hair. "Have mercy."

* * *

><p>Phil stared inside his locker.<p>

He'd walked here without thinking, absentmindedly deciding he would change clothes, but he knew there wasn't enough time. A part of him sneered that Mrs. Freitag wouldn't be surprised if he arrived late, but the rest of him, the parts that had been listening rapt to everything his dad had to say, didn't want to prove her right about him. Didn't want to prove anyone right about him.

The decision had been absentminded, though. Done at the back of his head, while the forefront of his consciousness focused on the fact his dad just had to lecture him about something he already knew. That he'd always known. It was common sense.

They wanted him to get riled up. They wanted him to be upset. By getting mad and going after them, he was giving them exactly what they wanted. Control. It was no different than with the bullies.

And yet it had never crossed his mind before. All this time just wishing they'd stop, he had never thought about it. Bullies did similar things to him all the time; always had been, always would. Insults, sneers, throwing him in lockers, pushing his head in the fountain and shoving him aside. That had been going on for just as long as Mercy, Georgia and Adalynn. Why did it bug him so much more when they did it? If he knew that getting upset was what they wanted, why did he do it anyway? He'd always told himself he couldn't help it, but he could with other bullies—why not with them? Why did he insist on going after them instead and making things worse?

Maybe because making things difficult or cracking bad jokes didn't make them pull back and avoid him. It just gave them strength. Like pelting snowballs at Jack Frost or something. He didn't know. He didn't want to think about it. It was too confusing, and today had been tiring enough without trying to psycho-analyze _himself_, for Pete's sake. Yet still, it played on his mind.

Slamming the locker door shut with a sigh, he then screamed and jumped away when Dolly turned out to be right there, neon eyes blaring into him behind thick glasses and heavy wheezing pants. She looked rather wild standing there, hair in disarray and shoulders shaking.

Before he could regain himself and go into his usual 'You could'a killed me!' speech, she shoved something heavy into his arms and dashed up the hall, out of sight. He stared dumbly after her a moment before realizing the thing in his arms was his backpack.

Rapid footfalls pounded behind him then and he turned just in time for Mercy to come skidding around the corner, face bright red with both anger and exertion and not a hair out of place. As soon as her eyes set on him, her chilly gaze went positively glacial. "_You_."

As she stormed up the hall to him, he nodded in agreement. "Me."

Once before him, she clenched her fists at her sides and glared contemptuously. "Hand it over."

Phil blinked dully at her. "Hand what over?"

"The backpack, Midge. The _backpack_. The one your stupid little girlfriend stole."

Phil stared at her. Then looked around. Then looked back at her. "I see your giant and beanstalk are nowhere in sight." His eyes narrowed insignificantly. "Without your minions, you're nothing but a short little blonde girl, you know."

She stared at him, glare vanished. Finally, she made a soft sound of disgust and made to leave. "You know what? Forget it. We'll get you later."

"Hey, wait," his voice betrayed him. He cringed, but then wiped his face as blank as he could make it when she looked back at him. No turning back now. He swallowed. "Can I ask you a question?"

She watched him through scrunched, disbelieving eyes. "A question?"

Phil took her grossed out return as a _yes_ and hastily spat, "Why do you hate me?"

She blinked quickly, twice, and searched his eyes silently for a time. He stiffened at her twitching pupils, dark and wintry, like mud tracked through the snow, as they moved over his face and then over his shirt, as if she was only just noticing he wasn't wearing his usual attire. Her expression was inscrutable, eyes piercing. Finally she met his eyes again and breezed, "For someone who likes to think he's so much smarter than everyone else, you're a huge moron."

He blinked, shocked, as she click-clacked self-righteously away, before his eyes caught fire and blazed into her back. Dropping his backpack to the floor, he delivered a few sharp, furious kicks to it before realizing his breath was starting to pick up. With a growl, he patted his shirt and pants, remembered he'd changed clothes, then yanked his locker door open again so he could make a mess of it in his desperation.

Finally, he found the bag of clothes he kept and dumped them all out onto the floor.

Once he felt normal again, he angrily stuffed all his stuff back into his locker and pushed it shut with his entire body. Leaning against it like that, he groaned and glared hatefully at nothing.

Then stiffened when he realized what he'd just done.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **LOOK AT ALL DAT ANGST, MMMHMMM. TASTE THE FORESHADOWING. FEEL THAT PREADOLESCENCE. omfg not like that, ewww.

You sickos.

Omg, but do you see why the initials to Phil's chapter are BS? Because that is all this is. BS. Just BS.

I'm making bad jokes to mask the fact I'm unhappy with this chapter. :D This was all necessary to get to where I wanna go, though, and I really needed to practice character creation. So don't worry, things get a looot better after this, and definitely start making more sense. Okay, that was a sorta lie, there's even MORE angst after this, but then things do get happyfuntimes real quick and it's all sunshine and rainbows AND THEN MORE ANGGSSSTT but it's brief and then it's happysunshineunicornpoop AND THEN INTENSE RAGING HATE AND ANGUISH and Phil's chapter pretty much ends like that. I think we all figured that, right? That was a given?

Actually it does have a happy ending, but it's kinda bittersweet and awful at the same time... I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE IT :'D

In the meantime, next chap has the Grandpa scene AND AUNTIE OLGAAAA~

Holy lemons, guise, Olga is like one of the best characters ever. I had so much fun writing her out. Her scenes are so awesome, eee. ;w;

So yeah, that's all written. I'll post it when I feel like it. When that'll be, I can't say. But you guys have a profound influence on me... if ya catch mah drift. *clicks tongue*

Now for questions :)

**Q - Does Adalynn have a crush on Phil? Will Phil notice Adalynn differently? Do Mercy or Georgia have a crush on Phil as well?**

**A -** First one, not telling! Second, yes, he will. Third, again, not telling~

**Q - Will Ham plan backfire and Phil have 3 girls crushing on him?**

**A - **Ham's plan will backfire, in a sense. But maybe not in the way you're thinking. ;)

**Q - She and the girls basically freaking jump Phil IN THE MIDDLE OF A SCHOOL HALLWAY and yet they think it's okay? I mean, he was walking away! WHAT THE HELL, SUPR, WHY YOU DOIN THIS TO MY FEELS, I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS.**

**A - **HAHHHAHHAHAHAHAAHAAHHHH

**Q - WHENTHEHELLDOWEMEETSARA. LIKE, ONCE AND FOR ALL OFFICIALLY?**

**A - **In the chapter after the next... I think. Probably. Most likely.

I'm a mean person and I apologize. x'D SOON, THOUGH. SOON. We are nearing that point. At the very least, the spot she fits into in the plot comes up next chapter. It's pretty obvious what my intentions are after that, haha.

**Q - which of the Shortman siblings is the oldest?**

**A - **mgknalga people keep getting confused about this and I am so sorry. I'm switching between years in this story a lot so I know it can get a little wut-ish, but I'm gonna try to explain it once and for all here as simply as possible.

Okay, in normal time, Zack is 16, Ham is 14, Phil is 11 (I think he might've aged up, tho?), and Amanda is 7.

This means, no matter how far back I go in the timeline, Zack is always around two years older than Ham, Ham is always 2-3 years older than Phil, and Phil is always 4-5 years older than Amanda. No matter what. I guess.

I suck at this timeline and age stuff. I really do. I apologize for any weirdness. I just like coming up with stories, and since this IS a fanfic, I haven't really bothered much with trying to keep it all that accurate. x'D

And that's it. I hope you enjoyed, and tune in at some unfixed point in the future for the next exciting addition of LIFE. WITH. THE FREAKMANSSSSS i mean Shortmans.

**_REVIEW!_**


	25. Breathing Slowly: Part 5

**A/N: **Okay, so I know usually I just blather stupidities in these things, but this time I'm gonna… I'm gonna try to be serious. *stupid giggle* Okay. Starting now.

I did a change thing. Instead of the flashbacks being three years back, they are now two. I've been thinking about them as two this entire time, so why I kept writing "THREE YEARS IN THE PAST" is beyond me. Just more of my carelessness on display, I guess. So yeah, I went back and changed that. No biggie. We're, like, currently in early January in this thing so since Phil's bday is November, and we just passed Christmas, that means he's only recently turned 11… Tell me that's not adorable. -w-

Honestly, I preferred that over making him 12. I almost did, but JFC, I just couldn't. xD He's been 11 too long. Like, literally 4 years now. I'm not ready for change. *hugs teddy and sucks thumb*

And all those times I said Phil was 11 in the past, well. Let's just say we were rounding. *snort*

Oh, I hate myself. Let's just move along.

**~Genius Supermodels with Sparkling Personalities~**

**KarinaWatchadoin**

**coldblue**

**conor dachisen**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**metalheadrailfan**

**puffball17**

**redacted**

Special thank yous to **coldblue** and **puffball** :'D I love your thoughts and reactions to things so much! Thank you for taking the time to review with them. You guys make me smile. *BIG AWKWARD HUGS*

**Disclaimer:** Pam belongs to **Panfla** and I. Mike belongs solely to **Panfla**, technically... but he's my husband, so in a way, he's mine, too. -w-

* * *

><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 5**

_"I try to bring you down, but_

_a level isn't good enough."_

—_You Me at Six_

* * *

><p><strong>A Week from the Present<strong>

"See, here's now, lunchtime, and then right after that is math, language, chemistry—Ooooh, look, we're in the same classes! We're going to have so much fun! You're gonna love Mr. Portly. He's fat."

Lee squinted uncertainly at her schedule, staring at the little yellow box Kayla was pointing at. "But I still don't get…"

"Yeah, I know. The schedule's are cruddy, they take a little getting used to, but you'll get the hang of it. It's kinda like a zigzag, see? You start here, then go down, across…"

Lee squinted even harder, and then huffed and slammed the paper onto the table, rubbing furiously at one of her eyes. "This is impossible. This school sucks. And these contacts are making my eyes all itchy!" She whined.

Kayla laughed. "That's what you get when you transfer to a school in the middle of nowhere. No one cares." She watched a little while as Lee continued rubbing at her eye and then grabbed her wrist in a fit of annoyance. "Stop scrubbing at it, buttmunch, you're gonna make your eye fall out!"

Lee slammed her hand down on the table beside her schedule and let out a wary breath. "Whatever, just tell me what's for lunch. I need comfort food and I need it last week." As Kayla grinned and walked her eyes along the ceiling, pretending to ponder her question, Lee's eyes drifted blankly to someplace over her shoulder and caught sight of a headful of brown hair. Her eyes flew wide and she instantly shoved Kayla out of the way right in the middle of her joking reply. "Who is _that?_"

Kayla gave her a funny look before turning around to look. For a second, she had no idea what she was talking about, but then her eyes zeroed in on the short kid leaning against the wall in the lunchline and her head whipped back around to face her friend again. "Ohhhh, that's Phil, but he's—"

"Out of my way, sweetheart!" She was shoved haphazardly out the way again, this time with enough force that she fell backwards out of the bench and slammed into the ground, legs erect in the air, as Lee stood from her chair with the determination of a thousand Spartan warriors shining in her eyes. "I can smell emo from twenty miles away. He is _mine_." Snapping her head down to look at Kayla, she asked, "How do I look? Do I look hot? Wait—" she held a hand up as Kayla opened her mouth to respond, "Don't answer that. I know I'm hot." She stepped over the immobile corpse of her friend and sauntered over to her target.

Kayla stared after her with her jaw unhinged a couple seconds before slamming her hands over her face and erupting in giggles.

Meanwhile, Lee scooted up close to Phil. He hadn't appeared to notice her yet, so she cleared her throat delicately and said, "Hey."

He still didn't look at her.

He must not have heard her, she determined. Leaning over into his face so he could see her, she repeated, "Hey."

His uncovered eye made contact with hers and she fought to hold back a grin. He had green eyes. Probably natural, too, by the looks of them. Heck yeah. Her lips trembled with the urge to grin but she forced them into a calm, flirty smile. "Sorry to interrupt you from your thoughts, I was just… in the area, and thought I'd introduce myself." She held her hand out. "I'm Lee Breeze."

His eye shifted down to her hand, then back to her face. He looked utterly indifferent, and made no move to take her hand. He remained silent.

A challenge then. She liked challenges. It made it all the more sweet when they inevitably broke. She slipped her hand smoothly into the back of her beach blonde hair, pretending to scratch and 'unknowingly' ruffling it up a bit, before allowing her hand to gracefully fall down to hook a few strands of hair around her finger. "So you're not the handshaking type, that's cool. I—"

The line moved up then, and he turned around and moved up with it. Her eyes widened at being swept to the side like that, but she dumped some ice over the negative emotion and took a deep cooling breath. He was an aspiring bad boy. The hair said that. The blank look on his face said that. Everything about him _reeked_ of it. Of course he'd be aloof. This was just his way of keeping her interested. Feeling sufficiently calm now, she moved up behind him again. "You know," she kept her voice low so only he could hear, and she'd conveniently have to lean in close to his ear to pass on her message, "I know your name is Phil. You might say I've been… asking around. But I never managed to catch your last name?"

He took two long strides forward as the line moved again, and said nothing.

This was getting less and less cute by the second. She sashayed aggressively forward (even though he couldn't see her, she needed that confidence right now) and planted herself very deliberately beside him. And this was as desperate as she was going to get, darn him. "I'm sorry. I know it's a little weird that I just came out of nowhere, but, I have to confess, I just felt this strange connection to you. It's too weird, I can't explain it. It was almost like we'd… met before." She looked at her from the corner of her eye. If that didn't get him to react, she was going to eat her schedule.

Meanwhile metal was screeching as it was forced against other metals in Phil's head. Outwardly, he showed no reaction. Slow, measured breaths came in and out of his nose, and he said nothing.

Lee stood there like that for a full minute with bated breath, when the line moved up again and he walked away. This time she didn't follow. Letting her mask drop, she scowled and stormed back to the table where Kayla was laughing almost manically, with her face bright pink and her arms spread out across the table for support.

As soon as she was back in her seat, she yelled, "It's not funny! You should have warned me!"

"I… tried…" she rasped out between squeaky laughs, shaking almost violently against the table. "That was so… beautiful, though, holy _God_—"

"_Shut_," she whined.

"What was that even about?" she wheezed. "You were like a, like a machine—"

"I have a weakness for brown hair and interesting haircuts." She shrugged. "I also haven't got any money so I thought I could get him to buy me something. It's standard procedure. I didn't expect—" She stopped short and scrunched up her face. "_That_. What _was_ that? Normally guys are falling all over me. That sucked. Who does the little pipsqueak think he is? I was doing him a favor just by looking at him!" She huffed.

"He's…" Kayla took in a large gust of breath, trying to gather some semblance of composure before exhaling with a grin, "like clinically shy. He never talks."

Lee gaped. "Never?"

"Well, I mean, for a little while I thought he was mute but then I saw him talking to that girl friend of his—"

"_He has a girlfriend?_"

"No idea! I've never seen them kiss or touch or anything, but they're always together. Mostly I just see her doing stuff for him. Some chick named Dolores, I don't know. But we're getting off topic." She flailed her hands a moment and took a breath before continuing, "He _can_ talk, he just rarely does it. That's it. That's what I was gonna say."

Lee pouted, picked up her schedule, and tore it in half.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" She moved to stop her but Lee pushed her hands away with a shake of her head.

"I told myself if I wasn't able to make him react, I'd eat my schedule. I haven't got any lunch, so I might as well." She sighed forlornly, putting on the most heartbroken expression she could as she put the first sliver of paper into her mouth. "It figures. Here I thought he was playing the bad boy act and he's just shy. What a disappointment."

"Well," Kayla tapped her chin thoughtfully, "there are the rumors."

Lee paused in her chewing. "Rumors?"

Kayla smirked, slamming the hand that had been on her chin onto the table as she leaned eagerly forward. Lowering her voice for effect, she trilled, "Uh-huh. When he first came here three years ago, they say he got into some really questionable crowds. Candy trading, gang-type stuff. There was gossip going around for months that he was mentally unstable and out for blood. A whole bunch of people were terrified of him. Some still are."

Lee stared at her with her jaw swinging, the paper a flat white square on the middle of her tongue. And then she blinked. "You're making that up."

Kayla drew quickly away and threw her shoulders up. "I'm not! Ask anyone. You'll see. He's a total kuku clock."

"Are you seriously serious?"

"As seriously seriously serious as I can get, girl."

"Well, in that case." She spat the paper out of her mouth and balled it up with a mean grin. "We can have some fun with this."

Kayla's eyes lit up. "What are you thinking?"

Lee quirked her pink lips to one side and glanced to her left, where the kid in question was sitting down at an empty table and tucking obliviously into his food. The wad of paper danced between her fingers as her plan finished its formation, and the little quirk in her mouth transformed into a full smile. "Let's see how accurate the rumors really are."

The spitball bounced off the back of his head, and he snapped up straight as a rod, looking sharply around. Kayla had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into tearful laughter. Lee watched carefully as the situation slowly processed with him, and he turned his head to look at them. Kayla's smothered giggles became nearly deafening, but Lee grinned the most blindingly gorgeous smile in her arsenal and gave a saucy wink.

He blinked and turned back around as if nothing had happened.

The grin dropped and shattered against the table into a thousand pieces. "Oh, he did _not!_"

Kayla squealed and slammed her forehead into the table. "Oh my _God_, I can't breathe!"

"He thinks he can remain indifferent to me? _Me?_ I'm Beverley Breeze! Does he know how hot I am? Is he _blind?_"

"Did you see his face?" Kayla cackled, banging her fist against the table. "Work of fricken' art!"

Lee growled, rubbed viciously at her eye again, balled up another piece of paper, dampened it, and then threw it with all her might so that it ricocheted off his back and went _kersplat_ against the floor. He seemed to pause a moment, but then he went back to eating, not even bothering to grace them with a look this time. Lee's face was a bright apple red progressively becoming more and more vibrant, when she finally released the breath she'd been holding and her face dimmed to a much less disturbing shade of light pink. She rolled her eyes over to her friend. "You of course realize this is war."

Kayla's laughter immediately tapered off into a devious grin. Two straws were produced seemingly out of nowhere, and several tears of paper were wadded up and spat on like an assembly line. "Way ahead of you, Beverley."

For the rest of lunch, the two shot torpedo after torpedo of saliva at his back, and when they ran out of torn shreds of Lee's destroyed schedule, they turned to napkins. When he got up and walked over to put his tray back, they did not relent, nor when he walked over to the trashcan and threw his plate and plastic utensils away. It was only when he finally turned around, shook the balls out of his hair (Kayla got a good giggle at the thought), and started walking in their direction that they ceased fire.

Lee was entirely convinced he was going to strut right up to them and either yell, glare, give her his phone number, or some combination of the three. Instead, he passed right by them, his eyes never straying from their set path to the door, and walked out seconds before the bell rang for class. Lee nearly had a heart attack. Kayla did, too, but for entirely different reasons.

As it would turn out, Kayla was able to talk her new friend down by telling her Phil was in her class, and, effectively, her's as well, so they had plenty of time to get revenge. The two brainstormed for the short five minutes before class, and when Kayla warned her they could potentially get into a lot of trouble for this, Lee mentioned she probably wouldn't be going to this school for very long anyway so she really didn't care for consequences. She was just here to have fun. Six months at most was to be expected, since the only reason they were here was 'cause they'd moved in with her mom's new boyfriend, and then they would hopefully be moving to someplace with a pulse. Kayla was already known as a bit of a troublemaker, so she was all too eager to set their plan in motion.

They caught Phil on his way to class then and followed him, taking turns saying, "React," while poking him with a pencil. He glanced at them a couple times, but that was it until they walked into class and he blatantly refused to sit down before them. They were finally forced to take the seats in the middle of the room, and he took the one at the far back, behind them. They both shared looks at that, having not anticipated this, but then at the last second managed to persuade the boys two desks behind them to switch, which placed Lee right beside Phil. He stared at her. She smiled. Mr. Portly turned around from where he'd been writing on the board the next second, and the games began.

A piece of paper was flicked onto his desk. He looked down at it and, not missing a beat, picked it up and tore it in half. Another was flicked. He tore that one, too. Seven more were flicked all at once three minutes later, and he shot a glare at them. They just grinned innocently, keeping their eyes locked forward on the teacher.

Mr. Portly noticed his distraction and traipsed through the desks so he was in front of him. His mustache twitched and danced like it was alive as he said, "Mr. Shortman! What is all _this_? Do you have something you'd like to share?"

Phil's eyes widened and he opened his mouth. Lee and Kayla leaned in closer to him in anticipation, but then he clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. All the notes were swept to the floor and promptly stomped like he was trying to put out a fire. Mr. Portly seemed satisfied with this, and pivoted back around to tiptoe back to the front of the classroom. The second his back was turned, another note whacked Phil in the head. His hands grabbed hold of the sides of his desk and held, his head turned pointedly down for the remainder of class. Mr. Portly's eyes were intent on the two girls after speaking with Phil, though, so the two weren't able to throw as many things as they would have wanted before math was over and they were moving on to another subject.

It was right when Kayla was about to chuck an eraser at him that he stood up, shouldering his backpack, and walked to the front of the room. A slip of paper was handed to Mr. Portly, who read it over and raised an eyebrow down at him. His mustache twitched over, "You have to leave _now_? Your aunt can't wait?"

Phil spoke dryly then, nearly sending the two girls into apoplexy, "No."

There was a loud thump, and all eyes turned to the back of the room. Mr. Portly's eyebrows furrowed. "Ms. Reynolds, are you okay?"

Kayla clawed her way back up from the floor and back into her desk. "Fine," she wheezed. "I think—I—I can't—" She shook with the effort not to laugh herself into oblivion, looking half-crazed.

Lee's hand shot up like a bolt of lightning. "Permission to escort Ms. Reynolds to the nurse's office, sir?"

Phil's eyes squinted suspiciously, but Mr. Portly thought the request very reasonable. "By all means, go, go." He watched on with concern as Lee helped Kayla to her feet and slung her arm over her shoulder to assist her in exiting the room. Phil followed shortly after them.

The moment the three were out the door and alone in the hall, Phil rounded on them and stared. He didn't say anything, he didn't move to touch them—he simply stared, daring them to make the first move.

The two just giggled and ran off. He was surprised for a second as he watched them round the corner, but then he realized the direction they were running and his shoulders slumped, his eyes rolling.

He turned to march in the opposite direction of them, and gave a little tap to each locker he passed as he traversed the familiar halls. Finally, he heard a tapping coming from one in particular and he stopped. Listening carefully, he tapped at the lockers again, and sure enough, the tapping came again. He walked calmly in the direction it had come and gave the tapping locker an experimental knock. As soon as the responding knock came, he pulled the lockpick he'd "borrowed" years back and grabbed the lock. Within ten seconds, the lock was pulled free and several books, sheets of paper, and thick notebooks poured like a waterfall from the locker. Accompanying all this came a hard plop of a girl whose face smashed into the floor just inches from his feet.

Phil tossed the lock into the locker and shut it. Returning the pick to his pocket and flicking a piece of paper still fluttering in the air away from him, he greeted, "Dolores."

Dolly sprung up from the pile, her glasses askew and a book open on top of her head as she looked up at him. She wheezed heavily and scrabbled up from the floor.

As soon as she was on her feet, he related the necessary information, "Mom should be here soon, so we're on a tight schedule. I'll need my history and Spanish books, along with the yellow notebook. Got that?"

Dolly nodded and was already starting down the hall when he yelled, "I'll meet you at the front in five minutes!" She waved her hand in acknowledgement before disappearing around the corner. The second she was out of sight, he allowed his eyes to narrow and pulled one of the notes that'd hit him in the head out of his shirt. It was time to assess the damage.

It read,_ "REACT" _in bright pink lettering. Perfect. He turned around and hotfooted it down the hall, the note fisted in two separate shreds at his sides.

Without worry of being seen, he conspicuously darted down an abandoned hallway, his backpack preceding him as he slid it across the floor into the shadows and threw the shredded note on the floor.

The light overhead flickered occasionally, but otherwise the hall was completely dark and rather dank, the only light emitting from where he'd come. The lockers were rusted and decrepit, a few barely hanging onto life as their doors hung and twitched from the draft created by what could only be the malfunctioning air conditioning, even though the air was suspiciously cold. It led to nowhere. It served no purpose. The only door available was an exit that opened out into the woods. It had long been boarded over.

Phil stormed in like he owned it and barked, "Melvin!" His shoes crunched on the dirt and stray candy wrappers as he walked deeper into the abyss. Not getting a response for several seconds, he growled a little and shouted, "Melvin, I don't have time for this game! Show yourself!"

A laugh rang out from somewhere in the shadows. "Phillip the second. How good of you to grace us with your presence. How may I be of service, old friend?"

Phil stopped and glared in the direction the voice had come. "We're not friends, Melvin, and you know why I'm here."

The laugh came again, quieter this time. "You wound me, Phil. You know I've always thought of you in the fondest sense."

Phil rolled his eyes. "That's a lie."

"Bravo." The darkened figure stepped out of the shadows. Little Vinny smirked at him, his shiny black hair sleeked back and suit immaculately kept. Behind him, two much larger forms kept away in the dark, but the threat was there. Vinny's poor Italian accent lilted unpleasantly, "You're right, of course. You always were."

Phil walked closer to him, his face betraying his irritation as he crossed his arms. "So why the act all of a sudden?"

His smirk didn't wane. "I still have eyes on you, you recall. Saw what them girls been doing. Thought it might be in my best interests to play nice." He unwrapped a tootsie roll and popped it in his mouth before burying his hands in his pockets, his posture lazy and self-assured. He stuck the bit of chewed chocolate in his cheek and cheekily said, "Don't want to get on bad terms with the school lunatic again, do I?"

Phil stopped in front of him and glared. "Do you have what I came here for or not?"

Vinny chuckled and shook himself. "Oh, with the glare. I'm shaking in my boots ova' 'ere. Relax, buddy." He scoffed and snapped his fingers. On cue, a large hand extended out from the darkness with his backpack. Vinny took it and threw the flap open. Phil leaned over to make sure it was all there, before he nodded and pulled back, already reaching into his sweater for his money.

Once he had the money in hand, he offered it and made a grab for the bag. Vinny snapped it away before his hand could make contact and clicked his tongue. "Ah, ah, Philly. I think I'm gonna need more than a few measly bucks for merch' this special." Phil's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to retort, but Vinny smirked and interrupted, "Hey now, these are getting harder and harder to come by these days. I had to pull a lot of strings to get these fo' youz. I can't afford not to raise prices in this economy."

"Like you know anything about the economy." He made another swipe for the bag.

Vinny snapped it out of reach and clucked his tongue in mock-offense, something flashing behind his normally cool gaze. "Hey, you dunno what I been doin.' I could'a learned."

"Oh yeah?" He smiled sarcastically and widened his eyes to display the brightness of his incredulity. "How?"

Not missing a beat, Vinny raised his shoulders up and raised his voice a couple octives, "I could'a read about it in some book—"

"You read? Unlikely." He made another grab.

This time, Vinny's mask fell to reveal a dark scowl and he took a swift step to the side, evading Phil's grabby hands just as he warned, "I'm within my rights—"

"You're a slimy bully who hides in the shadows and pays smarter kids to do his homework with money you weasel out of desperate losers and candy addicts. You _have_ no rights," Phil informed him almost boredly. As Vinny was a little distracted reacting negatively at his words, he managed to snatch his backpack. Vinny held tight to it, and it ended up suspended between them, both with tight fistfuls of the material. Seemingly as an afterthought, Phil added, "You're also short."

Vinny snarled, struggling to gather his merchandise back to himself. "You're no better than me."

"Uh, actually," with a sharp tug, he finally managed to free the bag from Vinny's grasp and threw it across his shoulder, "I kinda am."

There was a short pause where Vinny just looked at him, as if he were a science project. Then he blinked. "You still think you're untouchable," he observed, suddenly all cool reserve and flawless formality once more. He smirked. "You're funny. And you still owe me $2.95. Unless, of course, you wanna pay me in labor." He rubbed his fingers together with a leer.

"It's been over a year. You know very well I don't." Phil rolled his eyes, still with that bored, approaching impatient look. When his eyes met Vinny's again, he saw something bold there he didn't like and his eyes hardened. Drawing closer, he sneered viciously, "Look, I don't have time to play games with you today, Melvin, so you'd better step back."

Before Vinny could respond, screams broke through the air, followed by the rapid footfalls of two terrified girls from somewhere up the hall. They passed their hall, a blur of yellow and brown just before the unmistakable shadow of Dolly came racing through, her breathing heavy but her feet strong. Shortly after, there was a loud thud, and a scream of, "You might have mentioned she's _nuts!_"

"I didn't know," came Kayla's anguished cry, "Oh, God, I didn't kno—" Another thump.

With a final crash and telling clang, all was silent for several beats.

Then Vinny raised an eyebrow at Phil. "Nice to know you haven't lost your touch."

Phil snorted. "You have _no_ idea." He slipped his backpack on over his arms for safekeeping, hands lingering over the straps, and, figuring this interaction had gone on long enough, turned on his heel and began walking back up the hall.

Vinny called after him to finish his statement, eyes flashing, "You're still relying on everybody else to do your dirty work for you!"

Without turning his head, he replied snarkily, "You better be careful with that projection, Mel. It's very telling." He could have left it at that, but of course, since he was Phil, he went on, even nastier than before, "Especially since last I checked, you're the scum of the earth bathroom dweller, not me." Two steps. A harsh breath. Then his voice lowered, "Not anymore."

The mask clattered against the floor for the second time that day, and Vinny's voice raised to a yell, "You think you can hide behind your brothers and your nerdy little girlfriend forever, but ya can't! I'll find a way to make you pay! Nobody jilts Little Vinny! _Nobody!_" His voice broke.

Phil stopped for a second, and Vinny relished that second of reaction, but then he continued on, shoulders stiff.

Vinny growled and snapped his hand out. "Kevin, giraffe me."

A large hand reached out from the shadows again and dropped a doggy toy into his hand, with the rubbery likeness of a giraffe. He clenched his fist around its neck and gave it several angry squeezes, forcing squeak after pained squeak out of the battered toy. His breath deepened with each squeeze. "One year or twelve, you will never escape me, friend. I _will_ break you." He forced out a slow, measured expulsion of hot air, hissing between his teeth. "After all, a deal's a deal."

The giraffe squelched.

* * *

><p>"Hey… Hey, Mom… Mom, hey… Mother… Mama-Bear…"<p>

"What?" she snapped in a deadpan, scrunched over the steering wheel as she stared soullessly at the road.

Zack sat forward, elbows resting on the sides of the front seats as he tried to get his mom to meet his eye. His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Think you could pick up the pace a bit?"

The engine groaned in response, the car inching meagerly along the sidewalk. Beside them, a slug cut ahead, a few birds started to circle, and Phil stood at the front of the school several yards away, staring at them.

"Why would I do that?" she groused, coated with latent sarcasm.

"So that we can meet up with Dad and Aunt Olga before the road's slick from the second ice age?"

"Oh, you mean like your tone?" she asked casually, before her voice dropped into a girlish baritone. "Watch that tongue of yours, mister. I'm the one running the show here, so you'd better stop hovering over and park it before I—"

"Park it? I've got plenty of time then." He grinned.

Helga blinked dully. Her hand came up to hit the wipers for a moment and sweep off the few leaves that had gathered on the windshield. "Kid thinks he's clever," she commented to no one in particular. Zack's grin only warmed.

"Uh, sorry to say this, but," Ham clocked in, glancing at his watch, "we really are gonna be late."

"Ha, there ya go." Zack whipped his head between the two, smirking victoriously. "The good son has spoken. No denying it now."

Helga was just beginning on her reply when Zack's eye caught on a peach mass sidling up beside Phil up ahead. His eyes widened and he shoved himself forward suddenly, bumping shoulders with his mom in the process. "Well, well, well, what's this—"

Smashed up against the side of the car like a starfish now, Helga huffed and elbowed him back as the car swerved along the (thankfully) empty road. "Enough with your shenanigans, Zachary, get back in your seat! Damn it, I'm too old for this shit."

"You're not forty yet, Mom. You can't make that excuse yet," Zack muttered distractedly, still staring straight ahead. The mass of distinctly female peach seemed to be asking Phil something. Phil responded in how only Phil could. With lots of flailing and frenzied exclamations. The girl seemed to like this, though, and brushed a hand against his arm before skipping back into the school. Phil was apparently fed up with standing there like an idiot after that, because he came marching purposefully in their direction.

Helga finally noticed Zack wasn't listening to her – which was normal so she wasn't _too_ mad; there wasn't enough energy in the world to throw a fit _every_ time his attention wandered – and followed his eyes to see what he was looking at. She got an eyeful of angry brunet then and her eyes widened. "Oh."

The car door was yanked open the next second and an unsuccessful attempt was made at pushing Zack out of the way. "Move," Phil commanded.

Zack pouted jokingly as Phil continued to push at him. "But I want the window seat."

When his shoulder knocked against Ham's for the third time in five seconds, Ham finally snapped, "You're a skyscraper, you always have the view. Let someone else have it for once, geez."

Zack snapped a laughing look on him, but obligingly scooted over to make room. Phil huffed and hopped in, the door slamming shut after him.

"Is there something wrong with the car?" Phil asked immediately.

"Hey, you're welcome, nice to see you too," Zack muttered. Phil elbowed him. Ham flicked his eyes up and pressed his earphones harder into his ears.

Helga waved a halfhearted hand back at them to calm down, not bothering to turn around. "Nah, I was just stalling the inevitable." Sighing, she pressed down on the gas and maneuvered them back onto the main highway. "ETA 20 minutes," she grumbled, pouting at the road like it was the cause of world hunger and diseased puppies.

Phil blinked listlessly at her. "Is this about Aunt Olga?"

"No! Yes. Criminy, no, it's just—" Helga squeaked before falling into silence. After another few seconds, she said, in her more collected, 'I'm a thirty-nine year old woman with four kids and a 401K plan' voice, "Olga and I have had our disagreements in the past, but we've come a long way from how we once were. We've fought hard for what we have today and our relationship is very important to me. She is my sister and I love her." Abruptly her tone changed and her hands turned a startling white over the steering wheel, "But she's still a stinking lunatic!"

"Agh, well," Zack lounged back, "that's why her and Phil get along."

Phil shot him a look of utter contempt. Zack opened his mouth a little, widened his eyes, and spread a hand over his chest, as if to say, 'For me? You shouldn't have.' Phil kicked him in the leg and he sniggered.

Phil's growling alerted Helga of the danger and she started snapping her fingers back at them. "Hey, hey, no fighting, I want you boys in one piece when we get there. And you know what? While you're at it, brush your hair, too. Straighten clothes, wipe your cheeks. Try to look like the perfect, well-behaved young gentleman I _attempted_ to raise and not the small mob of wild beasts you actually are for _once in your lives_, thanks." She shot a firm glare back at them that barred any questions.

Phil asked one anyway, "Have you even talked to Aunt Olga recently?"

"Yes." She was a little indignant. Perhaps immaturely (her kids seemed to bring it out in her), she shot back, "Have _you_, Mr. Smarty Pants?"

"Yes, last week. Remember the phone call?"

"I thought that was Helen chatting your ear off."

"Yeah, but that was after she pried the phone from Aunt Olga's hand ten minutes in."

"Oh, I see…" Helga turned her head just a smidge to look at him out of the corner of her eye, staring like he was mutinous with her facial muscles chillingly motionless and eyes wide. Her fingers tapped along the steering, and her voice was deceptively sweet, "And just whatever did you talk about?"

Phil shrugged and turned his attention out the window, his head resting on his fist. "Stuff."

They fell silent for a while after that. The silence lasted for approximately… six seconds.

Then, in a deadly mutter, "Stuff?"

Phil nodded complacently. "And things."

Helga's eyes cut. "You're just screwing around with me for fun. That's not perfect little gentleman behavior."

"Since when have I ever—"

"Since I told you to, and you listened because you're a little angel. _Do you hear me, young man_? Little. Angel. Learn it, live it, love it. I have a flawless ladida older sister to knock the socks off of and you're going to help me whether you like it or not. I don't care how many glorious nights of discussing _stuff_ and _things_ you two have had, you are _my_ son, and as such you will obey me!"

Phil stared at the back of her head, his face twisted comically, unsure of how to react.

Zack chose that moment to chime in with a completely off-topic question, "Was that your stalker back there?"

Knee-jerk, Phil punched him in the shoulder, and while it didn't hurt, it did cause him to bump shoulders with Ham again. Ham clenched his teeth and glanced warily over at them.

Zack was highly entertained, and not at all dissuaded. "You know, that girl you were talking to. It was that one that follows you around all the time, right?"

Phil snapped a distressed look at Helga. "_Mom!_"

Helga snorted, something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh trailing the sound. "Don't turn to me for help, you little traitor. If you're not gonna respect your parents, you'd better be prepared to deal with the karma."

"But I hate karma," he whined back in distress, as if that should settle the matter.

Zack seemed to take this failed escape attempt as a confirmation and faked a swoon. "Oh, how sweet! Love at first creep! I'm so glad you've finally decided to take a mate. I was getting worried for a while there that I wasn't gonna be an uncle. After all, who knows when Amanda Faith'll hook one, and the likelihood of this beef byproduct here getting a wife at the rate he's going? Like a thousand to one." He bumped into Ham with a healthy smirk. Ham pressed a finger to his temple and counted to ten.

Phil looked at him like he was something vile and unusual. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Helga made a choked sound but covered it up with a quiet sneeze and a stroke of her nose.

"What? I just think it's nice, that's all." Zack smiled innocently, with just an edge of wickedness that most wouldn't be able to pick up on. Unless you'd grown up with him and could spot one of his schemes from twenty miles off. Like everyone currently in the car. "To see you maturing. Learning, growing, all that. New year, new you, right?" His smile widened, the wickedness unmistakable now, gleaming in his too-blue eyes. "Any idea when I should be expecting a wedding invitation, little man?"

Ham had gone round-eyed. "Zack…"

"_First_ of all," Phil began, and Ham slapped his forehead, Helga threw her head back a moment, and Zack smiled guiltily at them, though not at all apologetically, "I am not a _little man_, I am an eleven-year-old boy with intelligence far superior to your own piddling excuses for thought, so I would _appreciate_ a little _respect_. Yet clearly, since I've already explained this to you on numerous occasions and it has yet to sink in, I'll have to conclude that you are even stupider than I originally estimated. With that conclusion in place, it's only natural to also conclude that any attempts to explain the distinctly unromantic nature of my involvement with Dolores and my complete disdain for anything even remotely romance related would also be moot. Even if those points are obvious and shouldn't even need to be explained in the first place, but you are apparently so _thick_—"

"Okay, okay, that's enough!" Helga slammed her hand down without thinking, and the car horn blaring out of nowhere sent everyone in the car in near-cardiac arrest.

The car was quiet for a time as everyone sat stiff and wide-eyed, the car luckily still moving forward in the correct lane.

Swallowing, Helga forcibly calmed her jitters and managed a semi-authoritative voice, "We're going to be there any minute, so Zack, stop provoking your brother, and Phil, try to calm down, please."

"Mom, Aunt Olga already likes me," Phil tried to argue, with a sarcastic edge and still clearly upset raise of his voice.

"Oh yeah?" Helga swiftly interjected before he could say anymore. "When you're calm and cute, sure, but has she ever seen you when you go off the deep end?"

Phil fell silent.

As they were in a slow lane now, she reached a blind hand back and felt around for him. Once she had a grip on his arm, she gave it a reassuring squeeze and softened her tone. "Hey, I know how infuriating siblings can be but try to temper yourself. I want you to have a good time for…" her voice turned to a grumble, "however long she decides to hang around. Two weeks, two months, whatever." Then softly, "No matter my feelings about it, this is supposed to be fun for you kids."

Zack put his hand over hers on his arm and gave it a squeeze back. "Thanks, Mom," he choked, heartfelt. Helga immediately withdrew her hand and gave him a slap. He cracked up. "You can't tell Phil to '_temper himself_,' he's not capable of it. It's all Looney Tunes all the time over here." He jabbed his thumb in Phil's direction, almost aggressively.

"Hey, Mom," Phil suddenly snapped, something almost maniacal in his eye, "is your latest poetry book finished?"

That surprised Helga enough that she had to glance back at him a moment, bemused. "Uh… yeah. I finished it last week." She blinked, a funny little smile on her face. "Since when are you interested in my poetry books? You know they're all love poems."

Phil made a soft noise and nodded. "Oh, right, right. Sorry, for a second there I forgot I was a boy."

Zack stared agape, speechless.

Phil sprawled himself back in a clear mocking imitation of him and laced his hands behind his head, raising his eyebrows high at him with a smug smirk. The threat was laid bare for his eyes alone, as he'd made it for the past month at every possible opportunity, and it was too much.

Before he knew what he was doing, Zack roughly grabbed him and forced him to sit up. This naturally set Phil off, and he started trying to slap his hands away. Zack didn't let up, though, forcing him against the side of the door and stretching his sweater out in their struggling. As soon as the car was stopped, Phil grappled for the door handle and managed to get it open, just in time for Zack to give him a hard push backwards and launch him head-first into the dirt.

There was a loud gasp from… somewhere, and car doors being slammed, but all Phil could process at the moment was the shocked look on Zack's face as he leaned over him out the car.

The shock was neatly swept away a second later and replaced with a cocky grin. "What? I thought you'd be eager to see dear Aunt Olga as soon as possible."

Malice overwhelmed him, but before he could respond, Helga was upon him, grabbing him up from the ground and dusting him off, brushing the dirt from his hair and sweater in no time flat with a fevered incoherency of, "The things that come outta my vagina—" Noticing Arnold's car parked some feet ahead of them, she swallowed and barked, "Zachary Shortman, the moment we make it to the boarding house, I'm bolting your ass to a chair and yelling at you for a good twenty minutes. You are _not_ off the hook for this, are we clear?"

Zack made an unconcerned noise of consent and gracelessly pushed himself out of the car, making quick work of the lawn with long strides and an eagerness for easy amusement and forward motion. The Patakis had moved out of the old lavender brownstone around when Helga left for college, and into a larger brownstone with a small lawn and healthy tulip garden on the wealthy end of town. It was well-kept and lovely to look at, but Zack was up the steps with barely a glance and knocking on the door before Helga could even turn around and realize what was about to happen.

Within the split-second directly after his first knock, the door flew open to reveal a beautifully aged blonde woman with a stylish up-do, flowing white sundress and a light brown leather jacket. Her stunning chestnut eyes shone in the afternoon sun with light reflecting brilliantly off her flushed cheeks and plump red lips. With a gleaming white grin, Olga gave Zack a playful push back so he was standing a couple steps down and not almost towering over her, before throwing her arms around him. He laughed his surprise and grabbed her back with equal zeal. "Oh, Zachary, tu m'as manqué!"

"Tel enthousiasme," Zack laughed. "I've missed you too."

Pulling back, she looked him up and down with open wonderment. "Oh, look at you, so tall and handsome! And looking more and more like your mother every day." She gave him a kiss on both cheeks and grabbed him for one last embrace, one leg popping up behind her for the second it lasted before she skipped down the steps and stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, her grin grew to painful intensity as she slowly spread out her arms. "Baby sister…" she teased.

Helga threw her head back and reluctantly stood from the ground, where she'd been hunched down like a statue from the moment she heard the door open and pointless French being spoken. Turning around with a resigned air, she wearily returned the grin and held out her arms in return. "Big sister…" she sighed.

Olga squealed and was crashing into her before Helga could even process that she'd moved. She just managed to repress a gag, but it was a close thing.

"Oh, Helga…" Olga sighed, squeezing her with everything she had, which was just a little too much for Helga's taste. "It's been much, much too long."

"It has," Helga coughed, smiling despite herself as she returned the hug, albeit with a bit less crushing enthusiasm. She patted her back with a sigh of fond exasperation. "Been a while, with all those holiday showings you agreed to. Your next visit better not take so long."

She breathed, "Never," just when movement caught her eye and her attention noticeably drifted.

The movement was Phil trying to hide himself behind Ham. Figuring he probably wasn't too keen to get the air smooshed out of him, Ham nobly took a step forward to Olga and forced a smile. "Auntie."

The distraction worked, and was disturbingly instantaneous. Olga's eyes flicked to him and a giddy smile split her face open again. Pushing away from Helga for the moment, she launched herself at him and let out a rush of breath. He caught her with a light wince, and she happily began trying to squeeze all the air out of him when suddenly, she froze, and pulled back. New eyes swept over him before snapping up to meet his own, clearly surprised. "Joshua, dear, you've gotten so… so big! And—oh, you've gotten a haircut!" She laughed and started playing with the dark blond strands. "Oh, it's been far too long since I saw you! You really must send more pictures."

Ham laughed awkwardly, eyes centered on the hand currently twirling through his hair. "Uh, yeah, I guess… I go by Ham now, actually."

Olga hummed thoughtfully, her focus still devoted to fluffing his hair. She murmured almost absentmindedly, "Hm, I do think I remember hearing you preferred that now. I almost forgot." Her eyes met his again and crinkled warmly at the sides as she allowed her hands to drift down and rest lightly on his arms. "Ham."

The easy acceptance and refreshing lack of judgment in her tone made his smile more sincere.

Finally, the moment could no longer be avoided, and Olga stepped away to smile slyly at her youngest nephew. "Ah, Phil, I see you trying to hide… I want my hug…" She held out her arms.

He stared at her, stricken.

And then there was movement, too fast to process, Phil was turning to make a break for it when Olga swooped in and snatched him up, arms coiling around him like an octopus and nose nuzzling into his hair with a grin. He let out a long groan and slumped over in her arms, accepting defeat.

Olga giggled and set him back down on his feet as quickly as she'd grabbed him up, thoughtful to keep a hand on his shoulder to stop him from stumbling. "Oh, Philly, you look…" she blinked over bright eyes, her smile unfaltering, "bigger!"

Two coughs and low murmur of, "By two centimeters," was heard from Zack's general direction.

Olga ignored him and kneeled down on the grass, her dress falling flawlessly about her knees without her having to adjust it, so no dirt could dig into the light airy fabric. She ran her hands down his arms and gave him a softer, more familiar smile. "It's so good to see you again. I'm so sorry I haven't been able to visit in so long, Phillip," she said his name with the slight flourishing accent she said all their names with that annoyed Helga to no end, and she moved a bit closer upon hearing it, eyes sharp. "It's been such a long time. Oh, but don't fret, I'm going to try to be around much more often from now on. I hate not being able to watch you grow up."

Phil regarded her a bit glumly.

Helga didn't like what she was implying one bit and decided now was a good time to step in and bury her with questions. Directly behind her now, she loudly interrupted, "Ey, what did you do with my husband? Daughter? And how was your flight?"

Olga laughed softly and stood up from the ground, sweeping her hands gracefully down the front of her dress even though it was spotless and wrinkle-free. "Oh, first class was wonderful, Helga. They served the most delicious brunch, and I told the attendant that I simply had to know the chef's secret because the foise gras was exquisitely—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's great. My husband and daughter?"

Olga made a noise of surprise and a manicured hand flew to her cheek, eyes glittering and unreasonably round for such a simple question. "Ah, they must still be upstairs unpacking my things."

Helga stared at her for a long, blank-faced moment, before sighing and turning to walk inside the house. It was probably best not to comment. "Right."

Olga happily prattled on with her nephews as they followed her inside, going on and on about all manner of subjects that thoroughly entertained Zack, bemused Ham, and interested Phil. "And Charles so wanted to come, but was piled in work so he can't be here for another week yet. Tragic, no? Of course, Angelique and Genevieve are off at Wellington in Berkshire, and sweet Helena is still at the all girls boarding school in _Paris_. Each with honors, and never a grade below an A." She sighed happily.

Halfway up the staircase, Helga barked, "Phil, Josh, tell your aunt how smart you are."

Zack made a vaguely offended face and joked, "Hey!"

But Olga had already snapped her eyes onto Ham, intrigued. "Oh?"

Ham flushed slightly and straightened. "Er, yeah. I'm at the top of my class now. Honor roll and everything."

Olga gasped in pure delight and grabbed his arm excitedly. "That's wonderful! Félicitations! Bon travail!"

Ham smiled slightly, though still with an edge of discomfort. "Uh, thanks."

Zack smiled teasingly and slowly said, "Félicitations means _Congratulations_ and Bon travail _Good work_—"

"Shut up, Zack."

The bright grin and sparkling blue eyes captured Olga's attention next and she cooed, "Zachary, you must have so many admirers. Your pronunciation is c'est magnifique."

That got Zack smirking again. "Oh, yeah, well. French was my favorite class just because it finally meant I could understand what the heck Mom's always going on about. Language and English are admittedly my specialties, though really, I am good at most everything."

Phil snorted and Ham's eyes flew up.

Zack quickly moved on, "And actually, I'm still with Sophie."

Olga blinked, dark eyelashes fluttering like a butterfly's wings against her cheeks. "Sophie?"

"Yeah, you know, raven hair, pretty blue eyes? I brought her to dinner the last time you visited—" he paused, his lips pursed and head light bobbing as he thought, "oh, two years ago? Criminy, has it really been that long?"

Phil deadpanned, "Two years, three months."

Zack snapped a surprised look on him that he didn't catch, his eyes focused on the freshly polished hardwood floors, when Olga's loud, "Ohhh," grabbed his attention again. Olga nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember her. Such a sweet, demure soul, and with the loveliest presence. That was right after Phil's play, wasn't it?" She cast a warm look at him, only for him to avoid her eyes, and she blinked, wondering if he'd gotten shy since her last visit. He'd said barely a word since she met up with them.

Zack noticed this, too, and looked curiously between the two a couple times before responding, "Yeah, it was, now that I think about it…" He snapped out of it with a laugh as the memory flashed in his mind. "Oh, man, I nearly forgot about that! How could I? Phil with a mustache." He cackled.

They had been standing in the foyer for a while now, so Olga decided to lead them all into the family room to warm up by the fireplace. While they settled in, Olga said, "It's still such a shame I had to leave so soon after the show, and right in between dinner, too. Phil showed such promise for improvement. I was loathe to be unable to speak with him properly afterwards." She pressed a single finger to her bottom lip in thought, humming. "I seem to recall that was the night he decided he wanted to take over the family business, too." Her laughter tinkled like wind chimes.

Phil snapped a look on her from where he was standing in front of the fire, his face hard.

Olga was amused by this, and had something so knowing sparkling in her eyes that Zack's had to widen. "Of course, acting is a family business, especially now. Not that Daddy would agree." Phil relaxed at that, and she gaily continued, perched on the couch with her posture straight and hands folded neatly in her lap, "With the family's long history in the arts, it was only natural one of you would take an interest in it. I noticed dear Amanda Faith has an enthusiasm for poetry that if nurtured properly could—"

Zack's slinging an arm around her shoulders startled her out of her line of thought. "Say, Aunt Olga, sorry for interrupting, but I just wanted to express my deep regret that we're not closer than we are. Your last visit flew by so quickly—"

"She was here for a month," Phil flatly interjected.

Zack talked right over him, "—and we hardly had any time together. I'd like to remedy that, wouldn't you?"

Olga was surprised at this sudden desire for a closer relationship, but not at all put off. Continuing in her joyful, breathless tones, she agreed, "Nothing would make me happier."

Zack grinned madly. "Great!" Smashing a kiss onto her cheek, he flew up from the couch and bounded out of the room with a wave. "Tell Mom and Dad I have an errand to run, I should be back in a couple hours. Love you, see you soon, bye!" The door was heard slamming shut shortly after the last word reached their ears.

Olga blinked owlishly after him for quiet seconds after, a hand on her freshly smooched cheek. "Well, he hasn't changed at all."

"No," Ham dryly affirmed. "No, he hasn't."

Olga turned her dark brown eyes on him and smiled, revealing a thin strip of white. "How about you two? How have you fared?"

"Fine," Ham answered shortly, and offered nothing more than that. Olga blinked at him, slightly taken aback. Had he developed some shyness as well? Or…

Shifting her eyes between the two, she asked gently, "Are you uncomfortable with me?" When no answer was forthcoming, she crossed one long, sculpted leg over the other and relaxed the set of her shoulders, her eyes gentling. "You should know there's no need for that. I know it's been a long time, and much can change in a year, never mind two, but we are still family. Be easy around me. Please, there is no need for discomfort."

Ham blew out and scratched at his ear, head tilting slightly as he looked away. "I really am fine. I don't have anything else to say."

Olga frowned, disappointed with this flippant assessment. Edging closer to his chair on the couch, she murmured tactfully, "How about your little friend? Kori, was it?"

Ham didn't react at first to the obvious hedging around well-known information. Then he tilted his head towards Phil, who snapped an innocent look away from him, and Ham sighed and reluctantly met Olga's eyes. "I got an email from her a month ago, and she said she was fine, so… I can only assume she still is." He gave a light shrug of one shoulder.

Olga nodded sympathetically. "I'm away from my loved ones a lot, too." She reached a hand over to clasp his knee. He looked down at it, catching her radiant smile out of the corner of his eye. The unspoken 'We haven't spoken in almost two years' hung between them a moment before she said, "It's hard, but distance doesn't diminish love. Not when it's real."

Ham didn't think that was very comforting, but he smiled gratefully at her anyway. It looked just as forced as it felt.

A bit disappointed, Olga turned her eyes on Phil, expectant and hopeful. He met her stare and pursed his lips. Placing his hands on his hips, he nodded, eyes determined and jaw set. "Well, I'm fine, too. Better than I was," he forced out, the words feeling clumsy. Somehow talking to her to her face was worlds different from hearing her voice in his ear once every couple of months. He cleared his throat. "You?"

Olga's expression brightened slightly, and she extracted her hand from Ham's knee, missing his relieved sigh. "Oh, très bien, très bien! Thank you." She laughed, needlessly, maybe a bit hysterically. "It's good to hear that. How go your studies?"

"Fine." The light in her eyes dimmed considerably and he repressed the urge to sigh. "I'm not doing anything interesting, if that's what you're asking. My new school doesn't have a drama club. Or any clubs, as far as I know."

Olga looked scandalized. "That's horrible! What have you done? How have you coped?" She looked on the verge of next asking, 'Have you alerted the authorities?' but Phil spoke before she could.

"Calm down, I'll be going into middle school soon, it doesn't matter. Nobody cares, and frankly I'm not in any hurry to be working with idiots again. Those pea brains back at PS 118 had no idea what they were doing, no thanks to that pompous whelp they were calling director. I don't even want to think about what kind of torture might await me at my new school." He shivered at the thought.

"Mr. Leichliter?" Olga frowned scoldingly, her eyes faintly disapproving. "Phillip, he is a very well-respected musical critic! He's been in the business for over forty years. That you ever had a chance to work under him is a privilege. You shouldn't speak of him like that."

"He's still alive?" Phil's face scrunched.

Before any questions could be asked or further insults thrown, Arnold walked in. "Hey, boys," he smiled, walking over to stand behind Ham's chair and fold his arms across the back of it, the tips of his fingertips drifting over Ham's hair. Leaned forward like that, he nodded once to Olga, looking to be in a pleasant mood. "You're all set. Everything's hooked up so you should be able to video call any time you like now without issue."

Olga smiled beatifically. "Thank you. I don't know how I'd be able to sleep tonight without seeing Charles' smiling face."

"Well, there shouldn't be any problem with that." He smiled kindly. "You'll be able to see it… All thirty-four inches of it."

Olga beamed.

"Where's Mom and Amanda?" Ham turned slightly to ask him to his face.

Arnold's eyes drifted off, exhaling gustily. "Amanda claimed an allergic reaction to a leaf that blew in from the window so Helga's tending to it."

Olga gasped dramatically, reeling back as if she'd been struck. "Oh, no! Is she going to be all right?"

"Yes," Arnold cleared the rustiness from his throat and plainly continued, "she'll be fine."

There was a long silence in the room, filled only with the crackling of the fire and slight shifting of fabric. Olga's look of concern did not diminish.

"She's faking it."

Arnold nodded at Phil in confirmation. "I think she's trying to get out of tutoring today."

Even with her back as straight as could be, Olga somehow managed to perk up. "Tutoring?"

"Yeah, she helps me tutor a little boy in my—our—class. Mostly in math, English, and spelling. He's good with the more hands-on subjects, but anything that takes a little too much brainpower, he gets frustrated with. He's a bright kid, but he just refuses to put the effort in. I think he's afraid if he tries, he'll fail."

Olga nodded sympathetically. "It's always something like that. Poor dear. Perhaps I could assist?"

Remembering the few times Olga had tutored him as a kid, he didn't have to think long before he agreed. "That would be great. Any and all encouragement is welcome. Try to be gentle, though, ease your way in—he's slow to trust people so he's likely to be a little defensive at first."

Olga nodded solemnly. "Of course."

Meanwhile, as this conversation was taking place, Phil was gaping like he'd just witnessed the planning of a murder. "You invited him to the _Sunset Arms_?" Arnold inclined his head to him with a blink, and Phil scowled at the confirmation. "First you invite him into our home fifty gajillion times so he can get his ucky little eight year old germs on everything, and now you're gonna defile the boarding house, too? Is no place _sacred?_"

"No," Arnold calmly replied, "I'm going to defile this house, and then the boarding house. I'll be picking him up in about half an hour." He dropped his voice to a stage-whisper and leaned forward with large eyes, "No place is safe."

Phil eyed him, his lips in a tight line. "You're mocking me."

"No…" He had the nerve to sound unconvincingly shocked.

"_Fine_, laugh until your lungs shrivel up but when your little matchmaking games go kablooey and every property we own is tainted with the memories of crushing failure, I'd just like to have it on record that I didn't support you." He pointed a finger at him, eyes flickering ominously. "You'll regret this, mark my words…"

Olga's eyebrows flew up and her eyes glinted dangerously. "Matchmaking?"

Phil threw his hands up.

Just then, footsteps thumped from somewhere in the hall and produced Helga and Amanda at the doorway. Arnold made a brief 'quiet' motion with his finger on his mouth before smiling at them. "How are we doing, ladies?"

"Awful," Amanda croaked, her pigtails sagging more than usual. "I don't feel so good. My throat's all scratchy." A violent hacking cough wracked her tiny body.

Arnold raised an eyebrow at Helga, and she gave a subtle shake of her head and upward flick of her eyes.

Before he could say anything, Olga shifted around in her seat and smiled. Her voice was soft, like a kitten's caress, "Hey, I think I have just the thing for a scratchy throat, if you're willing to try. I'd hate to have you sick on my visit. There's too much fun to be had." She stood and walked around the couch to face her, her hands pressing into her knees as she leaned down. "Do you like honey and lemons?"

Amanda frowned, but reluctantly nodded. Olga's smile widened and she offered her hand. Amanda took it, and she led her off to the kitchen, a light skip in her step that only seemed to emphasize the drag in Amanda's, the sunshine that usually followed her everywhere apparently swallowed up by a dark black cloud.

As soon as the two were gone, Helga threw herself back on the couch and slumped down, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. "Those two together…" She massaged her temples, shutting her eyes tight. "This can only end badly. And probably with an inexplicable amount rainbows and puppy dogs."

"She offered to help tutor, too," Arnold added helpfully.

Helga threw her head back and groaned.

Phil sniffed and jumped out of his chair to briskly exit the room.

Arnold watched him go with eyebrows high. "Phil, where are you going?"

"Places," he yelled just before disappearing out the door. Arnold and Helga shared a look. Ham just continued to sit still in his seat, wondering if a normal life was even possible if everyone related to him was going to keep insisting on being more and more ridiculous.

Since no door slamming was heard several minutes after his departure, the couple relaxed and made small talk, Josh occasionally adding his two cents. For a little while, it almost seemed as if they might have a peaceful moment to themselves.

Then Arnold asked, "Where's Zack?"

The conversation kind of went downhill from there.

* * *

><p>Pam lounged back on her powder pink bed, the mattress sinking and practically swallowing her up as she lazily kicked her feet at the clear white curtain hanging over her. The checkered pink and white comforter lay in a tangle on the floor, a lighter blue blanket with clouds on it underneath her, and a round blue pillow with a poodle on it and the words "Le Woof" held tightly to her chest. Her free hand played absentmindedly with one of the pillow's tassels as she spoke into her cell, cushioned between her shoulder and ear, " 'Poor, naïve, ignorant Pam,' he said. <em>Ignorant<em>. I am not _ignorant_. He has no idea the stuff I've seen, the things I've lived through. He has no right—Are you listening?"

There was a commotion over the other end, and a shot of static before the voice came back, "Yeah, I'm sorry. Still a bit busy."

Pam let out a gusty sigh and sunk farther back into her bed, bringing the pillow up to bury her face in. Out of the corner of her mouth, she grumbled, "Well, like I was saying, the asshat has no right to talk down to me like that. He's always doing that, he has this tone he uses—like he's Zeus or something and the rest of us are just—just—poor, naïve, and ignorant." She groaned exaggeratedly, half-muffled by the pillow. "And he had his arm around me, too, like I needed to be comforted for my sad case of stupid or something. 'Oh, the pathetic ginger thinks she knows things again, poor dear. Let me just cradle her to my chest and rock her back and forth while I bestow her with my infinite wisdom.' " Several expletives and colorful noises of disgust followed her impression, before she went soundless.

After a long period of silence, Sophie finally responded with, "You're a funny girl, Pam."

Pam let out a gusty sigh at the predictable response and sunk farther back into her bed. Out of the corner of her mouth, she griped, "I just don't get what you see in him."

Soft laughter. Static. "Yes, I know. You've only said that twelve times in the last hour. And somewhere around a hundred times in the last month."

Pam blew a raspberry into her pillow, rolling her eyes. "Well, it's true. You could do so much better."

There was a short silence, the sound of a box falling, then Sophie's voice came back, "I don't understand why you're so fixated on this."

"_Jaron_—" she gasped, throwing the pillow aside, "Jaron is so cute, why don't you date him?"

"Jaron?" Sophie sounded extremely amused.

"Or that Willy kid, the hippie one. He seems nice, and you're around him all the time anyway. Or, hell, Billy Green would be a better alternative to _Zack Shortman_—"

"Pam," Sophie spoke softly, patiently.

"I mean, I don't know what your type is. Jaron implied you're some weird species of girl who likes it a certain way or something, but I don't know what the hell that means. What do you like? If you're attracted to confidence, Reuben's kind of pompous in his own right – granted not nearly as much as Zack but that's kind of the point – and he's really nice and really loaded, so maybe—"

"Pam," Sophie said a little more firmly. "I'm not interested in—" There was a sigh, and what almost sounded like a chuckle. "What… What is this about? Really?"

Pam sat up on the bed, folding her legs under her Indian-style with eyes unconsciously drifting to her window. She stared at the sunlight streaking through from her perch for a couple seconds, the see-through curtain rustling a little from the breeze, before she picked her cell phone up from where it had tumbled onto the bed and asked, "Does Phil seem depressed to you?"

There was another long silence over the connection. Then, "No."

Pam grabbed the zebra pillow at the foot of her bed just for the purpose of throwing it violently across the room. "No way, not you too!"

Helplessly, Sophie replied, "I'm sorry, but I've known him for two years, and for all that time, he's always been… the same."

Pam looked around for another pillow to throw.

As she did this, Sophie continued speaking, "You're changing the subject."

"Am not," she sniped, hanging half off the bed, hair splayed in a tangle on the floor, in search of something to sling violently against the wall that wouldn't break.

"You are," Sophie countered, not missing a beat. "You've seemed pretty intent on persuading me to break it off with Zack. There must be a… reason."

Pam thought the way she said 'reason' sounded kinda fishy, but there was enough blood rushing to her head that she ignored it. "Yeah. There is a reason. And it's exactly how it seems." Pushing herself up from the floor, she fell back against the bed and glowered up at the ceiling, face half-hidden behind a sea of red hair. "I hate watching people getting taken advantage of. I hate seeing people getting _used_ and mistreated and swept aside. Which, in case you haven't noticed, is exactly what Zack does—to everyone—including you."

The stretch of silence was long enough this time that Pam felt compelled to go on, almost pleading, "You don't have to be with Zack out of some weird obligation, Sophe. You're better than that. If he's—" she sighed, rubbing her forehead, "If he's blackmailing you or something, tell me, and I'll help you get out of it. You don't need to do this. It's obvious you're not into him. A blind person could see it, and it's painful to watch. Just… please."

Silence reigned, until finally, there came a soft murmur, "You have it all wrong."

Pam blinked.

After a moment, and what sounded suspiciously like a long exhale, more words came, "I'm not with Zack out of… obligation, or because he blackmailed me, or anything. I'm with him because… because I love him. He's sweet and kind and thoughtful and I love him. That's… it, Pam, that's really all it is."

Pam's temper flared. "Oh, yeah, _sweet_ and _kind_ and _thoughtful_. Right. That's Zack to a T. My mistake."

"Pam—"

"It's not like I've been around the guy every day for a month or anything. It's not like I've had a front row seat to every obnoxious, callous, thoughtless thing that's popped out of his mouth ever since I met him. It's not like I haven't had to sit back and bite my tongue while he treats Jaron like a slave or snores like a hog in class or parades around like he owns the place. It's not like he _forced_ me to be his friend or anything. Oh, no. He's really just a poor misunderstood angel. Once again, the ignorant ginger has no idea what she's talking about."

More silence. Then, hoarsely, "That isn't what I said."

Pam stilled. After a much longer, more uncomfortable period of dead silence, she sighed and ran her thumb over the edge of her eyelids, eyes closed. She'd forgotten who she was talking to for a minute, her logic made hazy in the midst of raging defense. Sophie had been sheltered most of her life, and had a delicacy about her—she didn't understand true, honest to God hatred. Let alone hatred for her perfect lovely boyfriend, but then, Pam had never been one to let sympathy get in the way of her resolve. Some might call that a flaw. She called it a healthy case of the stubborns. Yeah, that's right. Healthy.

Because health had everything to do with blowing a fuse over someone defending the guy they'd been in a relationship with for two years. Stupid. She dug her thumb harder into her eye, hoping distantly that she might go blind so she wouldn't ever be expected to look Sophie in the eye again.

But then, Sophie _had_ been sheltered, Jaron had never had any other friends before Zack came along, and for someone perfectly all right, Phil could look awfully unhappy—Pam couldn't shake the feeling of protectiveness it brought out in her. Zack was dangerous, that was all too clear; it had been proven time and time again. She wasn't seeing things. The others were just biased, blinded by the carefree smiles and gooey blue eyes and plastic charisma. Pam couldn't deny he had a way of making you want to take down your defenses. He was… warm. Somehow. Something in his eyes made you want to trust him; to vent all your problems as he patted you on the back and told you it was going to be okay.

But it was all fake. Pam had experience in this, experience that the others didn't have. She could spot an asshole from a hundred miles off, and the moment Zack came stampeding into her line of vision, she'd been practically blinded from it. The guy was a jackass. He even confirmed that. A manipulative, self-serving, evil jackass. She wasn't about to let him weasel his way onto her good side next. That was how you ended up locked in closets and stuck in dead-end relationships.

So yeah, she felt bad about shocking her friend's innocent sensibilities, but she couldn't regret it. Someone had to pull these poor babies out of the sky before Air Asshat came through.

It was with exactly this thought in mind that she lifted her finger and opened her mouth to say—

_Beep._

She blinked and shut her mouth. She blinked again and squinted her eyes. "I think someone else just tried to call me."

"You can call me back," Sophie replied just a little too quickly. "Or put me on hold. It's fine."

Pam's eyes squinted further, but she relented. She didn't have a choice. There were only so many people that could be calling her. "Okay. I'm gonna put you on hold, but don't think you're getting out of talking about this."

It could have just been a breeze, or it could have been a sigh. It was hard to tell. "Very well."

A few taps later, and an automated ringing was filling her ear. She scrabbled a blind hand between the sheets and fished out a lollypop just as the phone was picked up. She popped it in her mouth and asked over the stick, "Yellow?"

A smooth, male voice responded, one that made her instantly slam her eyes shut, "Blue. Indigo. Purple. Green. Polka dot. Am I winning?"

She threw an arm up over her eyes. Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears when she replied, "You forgot red."

A deep, slow chuckle. Wind slapping against the receiver. "Shoot."

This could not be happening. Static crackled in her ear. She sighed. She didn't know why she was surprised anymore. "What do you want, Zack?"

His response came swiftly, "I would like my wife to meet me at Slausens in exactly one hour. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, honey. We have important business to discuss. I'll see you there. Bye."

The line cut, and Pam gaped at nothing. The next second she was holding the phone directly in front of her face and yelling, "You can't expect me to drive that far at random, I don't even have a license—Zackass!" as she pressed furiously at the redial button.

After the fifth time he didn't pick up, she yanked her blanket up, balled it up, and threw it across the room, hissing his name like a curse. Shooting up from her cozy nest on the bed, she gave a hard press of a button on her phone and spoke as she yanked on a pair of pants, "I want a divorce."

"That was Zack?"

Pam snorted. "Of course it was. Oh, and you're right. He's a real angel-pie."

More boxes dropping. "He is."

Some of Pam's disgust leaked into her tone, "Sophie, I know you have trouble with the concept, but I was being sarcastic."

"I wasn't." She could hear Sophie's smile as she said, "Have fun being married to my boyfriend."

The line clicked off.

* * *

><p>Zack whistled softly as he reclined back in his booth. A foot was perched comfortably on a knee and his hands twined unworriedly together over the table as he awaited his archenemy's arrival. The light patter of footsteps and soft murmurs of enthusiastic conversation surrounded him. He whistled on over it.<p>

A scuffling came from beside him then and he opened his eyes. The flash of white out of the corner of his eye made him grin and he turned his head back to face the waitress, hair flopping out of his eyes as he did. "Rosie, my love. Sneaking up on me again?"

Roselaine met his eyes dispassionately. "Look, you've been loitering here for over half an hour now, are you gonna order anything or not?"

Zack blinked at her serenely, his grin undimming. "Your concern is warming, but I think I'm good for now. Thanks for asking." He winked and, with that, turned his head back and shut his eyes, resuming his whistled melody.

There was a moment of silence that wasn't filled with the sound of retreating footsteps, before she started talking again, sounding exhausted, "You've gotta order something or get out, you're creeping people out just sitting there."

Zack spoke without opening his eyes, loudly and to the general area, "Is anyone creeped out by me?"

There was a much longer pause this time, before there came some tentative, "No's" and "I guess not's" and "The hell you talking about, I just came here for ice cream's." Zack grinned and nodded to Roselaine, opening his eyes just long enough to make a sweeping motion with his hand and tell her, "See? Not an offputting thing about me. Plenty of other open tables. Relax."

Her already straight mouth somehow became straighter. "Okay, I'll restate. You're creeping _me_ out just sitting there."

That got Zack to really look at her, giddy with amusement. "Oh, Rosie, I distract you?"

"That's not what I said."

"Ah, but it was what you meant. I know how to read between the lines." He wagged a knowing finger at her.

Roselaine opened her mouth to reply, then seemed to think better of it and just sighed, turning on her heel to trudge away.

Zack chuckled and threw a, "I'll have a strawberry milkshake and a bag of lollypops," at her back. She gave no visible reaction and came back with his order five minutes later, not saying a word. That was okay. He wasn't expecting her to.

It was right as he was sticking his straw in that the entrance door jangled open and an unkempt, extremely pissed off redhead came storming through.

Zack greeted her with a wave and beaming smile. "Pam Cake, so glad you could—"

"Stuff it," Pam instructed as soon as she was standing before him, hands coming down on either side of the end of the table. Her eyes blared into him behind dancing strands of crimson hair, setting her face in a foreboding shadow. "You can't just order me around like that. You can't just…" there was something very heavy in the way she breathed, even as she only took in light huffs of air, "command me to travel thirty miles at the drop of a hat."

"I told you just today that we were probably going to have to meet up here." He raised half an eyebrow at her, skeptical.

Pam's knuckles were turning a little yellow. "We never discussed when. If we had planned to meet up here today, you wouldn't have had to call me. I assumed today you were visiting with your aunt." Her shoulders lifted imposingly. He was not intimidated. Her voice rose a bit to her usual pitch, squeaking around the edges in her fury, "How do you know I didn't have plans today? I could have been getting ready to go to my big poker game with the president and bigfoot when you called."

Zack's skeptical eyebrow rose even higher, and she turned her eyes down, pursing her lips. He knew very well she had nowhere to go these days. He'd been living next to her for over a month now, watching, waiting for her to do something dastardly. She never did.

She was turning out to be a pretty pathetic excuse for a nemesis, actually.

She was determined to ask stupid question, at least. That was kind of diabolical, he supposed. Face coloring, she appeared to hold her breath for all of three seconds before suddenly bursting, "How did you even know I knew where Slausens was?"

At this rate, his eyebrow was gonna be on Mars. "It's a candy store."

Almost before he'd finished talking, she was bursting again, "I don't even know how to drive!"

"Oh come on, now you're just grasping at straws." His eyebrow lowered, along with his eyelids. His lip quirked up at one side. "You and I both know Ms. Idleberry was more than happy to drive you down here when she heard you were meeting with me. It's not a problem—not in this life, nor in any other, will it ever be." His eyebrow lifted. The lids stayed down. "Why do you want to be angry?"

She clenched her teeth. "I didn't come with my mom."

The door jangled again but he kept his eyes trained on her, trying to make sense of her words. It wasn't until the heavy footfalls made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up that he turned to look at the new occupant, who was very blatantly heading straight for them.

Sharp onyx hair styled down half of his head, lined with dark blue highlights, was headed his way, in a faded blue tee with a chain rattling around his neck. That was where the color ended. Past that was a thick black coat, ripped black jeans, and – you guessed it – black combat boots. The guy was almost skinnier than him yet still somehow managed to look like he could take down ten guys on the spot. It wasn't too terrible, in Zack's experience—he'd come across punks before with much more… enthusiastic looks. It wasn't until he came close enough that he could get a good look at his eyes that his blood ran cold.

Blazing hazel eyes sought his and stayed there once locked, unbudging. His eyes crinkled a few moments as he strained his face, before he stated, "I've only just met you and I hate you."

Zack stared at him, still as a statue. An instant later, he asked quietly, perfectly composed in direct eye contact with the man, "Pam, who's the big creepy guy?"

Pam's eyes shot between the two of them bemusedly during their exchange, and sighed at his question when it came, eyes rolling up. "My ride, you knucklehead." She swung a hand between Zack and the big creepy guy. "Zack, my brother, Mike. Mike, this is the asshat."

The man, now identified as Mike, shot his eyes around the room before pushing Pam to slide into the booth opposite Zack. She did so with a snort, and he slid in beside her, snatching up a menu that same second. He buried his face in it, and spoke no more.

Zack continued to stare at him, eyes fallen almost completely closed and eyebrow drawn. "You couldn't have waited in the car? This is kind of a private conversation. Really important."

Mike gave no response.

Zack exhaled through his nose and looked back to Pam. "Is he safe?"

Pam's eyes were deadly when they met his. Ah, she was royally cheesed. He'd almost forgotten. She replied lowly, laden with sarcasm, "He won't breathe a word."

Zack caught Mike's menu lowering just enough to reveal a light smirk on his face. His eyebrow shot up in increasing alarm. "Then what's that look on his face?"

"Zackass," Pam leaned forward over the table, partly in front of Mike, shielding him from view, "get to the reason I'm here. Now."

Zack huffed out a laugh. "Touchy, touchy. I'm starting to see that runs in the family." Mike's shoulders tensed and he quickly moved things along. Tapping the table with the end of his spoon, he quietly said, "I need that evil brain of yours for a… dilemma, I've been working on solving."

Pam's face cleared slightly. Her eyebrow lifted. "What dilemma?"

The tapping ceased. "My baby brother."

Pam's eyebrows flew to Mars.

Zack went on to explain the entire pitiful situation then. About how her meddling had put him off his game, and he'd gotten conked on the head after Taro's party only to forget all about the poem until the next day. How his little brother had gotten a hold of said poem and confronted him about it. About how insufferable he was and he needed her help to put him back in his place.

Pam's eyebrows only climbed with each period mark heavy with tacit accusation. Finally, when he seemed to be done, she said, "You think this is my fault."

His slow, confirming blink made her already sizzling temper rise to heights of whipping inferno, and when she spoke this time, it was underlined with disgust, "You've gotta be joking—This is _your_ fault! You're the one who got sloppy! It's not my fault you don't know how to keep your own _deep, dark secret_," she said this deeply, with a mocking twist of her face and cross of her eyes, "a _secret_. Take responsibility for your own oafishness for once and quit blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your life. I am not your own personal scapegoat."

Zack didn't react to her outburst. He didn't move, he didn't yell—he barely even batted an eye, but she knew better. She'd heard others go on about how laid back and cool-headed Zack was, but she'd never seen it. She supposed this should be a sign that he was getting more comfortable with her, that he felt less threatened, but she'd seen him run, face red, nostrils flared as he insulted her and told her to buzz off. Heck, he'd been yelling at her just a few hours ago. He was holding himself back.

Probably because of Mike. She glanced at him, noting how he was staring vacantly into his menu.

Zack cleared his throat and pulled his melting milkshake closer. "I never had any problems with this until you came along. My family was none the wiser for six years. You're the one who forced all this poetry business out into the open and since you're the one who screwed with the equilibrium, you have to help fix it."

Pam threw herself back in her seat in a soundless groan.

A menu was suddenly slid across the table. It whapped into the napkin dispenser just as Mike cut in, "Hey, Ella doesn't have to do anything for you."

Pam shot a glare at him and whispered menacingly, "Mike…"

He waved her off without so much as a glance. "I'm your ride, sweetheart. I leave, you leave."

Zack still wasn't reacting. Pam was reacting quite a bit, with her pink face and clenching fists, but Zack stared straight through the both of them. "Oh, _Ella's_ informed me of that little fact more than once, never you worry."

Pam belted out an anguished groan and slammed her head into the table. Neither Mike nor Zack seemed particularly perturbed. Rather, Mike narrowed his hazel eyes and replied very reasonably, belying his ticked off body language, "Yeah, well, it clearly hasn't gotten through to you if you're trying to force her into helping you get revenge on your _little brother_—"

Zack continued in his soft tones, "I'm in the business of seeking justice and fairness. I'm a pacifist, my brother is not. I merely want things back to the way they were before your sister plowed down my entire way of life. She owes me."

Pam snorted and scoffed from her position over the table. Mike's eye may have twitched, but he couldn't be sure. "You wrote a poem, in _five minutes_," his voice pitched high in his skepticism. "What do you want? A trophy and twenty-five thousand cash prize? I paid you back."

"Twenty dollars."

Mike bared his teeth, the first true announcement of the temper bubbling beneath the styled blades of charcoal, blue hair. It was that, this hideous combination of safety and evil, that made Zack crack.

"Look," he suddenly hissed, rising up on the palms of his hands with previously calm blue eyes blazing dangerously, "this wasn't just a poem. This was something very private and personal of mine that got forced into the light _against my will_ for the sake of you and your sister's gain. I'm sorry that upsets you, but this was kind of a big deal for me, and now thanks to that, my little brother – who is off kilter and really doesn't know any better, by the way – is holding it over my head to make himself feel superior. Now I don't know what your beef is with me, but if this is just about having to drive down here, you were going to have to do it anyway by the sounds of it. Or, hey, if the poem wasn't to your satisfaction, I have plenty more where that came from!" Snatching up a napkin, he produced a purple pen from—_somewhere_—and began scribbling something down at the speed of light. Several verses later, he pocketed the pen and slid the napkin across the table to a stunned Mike Idleberry. "There, a selection. I've further compromised my pride for you. Now can Pam help me?"

Mike stared down at the napkin for a long time, silent and slack-jawed. Pam stared at Zack like an apparition, like she was waiting for him to either pop out and scare her or disappear. Finally, Mike reached over and slid it closer to himself.

Pam's eyes shifted to him as he read. A sense of dread settled over her.

Finally, Mike slowly looked up at Zack, his mouth closed a little too purposefully, and he began to stand. The chain around his neck swung forward in time with his movements. "Now you listen here, you monkey-faced little punk. I don't know who you think you're talking to, but you can't just treat my little sister like she's some kind of—"

"Mike," Pam hissed, standing abruptly to grab him by the back of his jacket and jerk him back. "This is not your fight, I can handle—"

He flailed a little and elbowed her arm away. "I'm the one who got you involved with the kid! This is too my fight!"

"Yes," she lowered her voice to a near whisper, mindful of the eyes on them and Zack's wide-eyed stare, "but I went into it of my own free will. For _pay_." She gave him a meaningful look. "I can handle this." Eyes fluttering, she tilted back and smiled. "I mean, it's just Zack, right?"

Mike stared at her.

She stared back, eyebrows lifted, holding her smile.

Finally, after a few more seconds of staring, he pursed his lips and swayed back. "I'll be in the car." He shot Zack one last cutting look before he stepped out of the booth, then slowly out of the shop.

As soon as he was gone, Pam released a harsh sigh and fell back in her seat. "Sorry about that. Mike's kind a big overprotective idiot. All talk, no action, though. Don't worry about it."

Zack didn't reply.

Pam blinked. "Zackass?"

He pursed his lips and slowly shook his head.

Pam blinked again and glanced at the napkin. She was just thinking about sliding over to read it for herself when Zack suddenly plucked it up and tore it to shreds. Pam snapped her eyes back on him, perturbed. "Damn, you really have no respect for your gift, do you?"

The now-shredded pieces were stuffed in his pocket, suddenly very calm. Too calm. His arm shook. "It's..." he breathed in deep, "not a gift." He left it at that. The lull in conversation was just a second long enough that Pam was starting to get worried Mike had seriously freaked him out. She knew what a big wimp Zack was about these kinds of things.

Then, that changed.

Meeting her eyes unexpectedly, he grinned; a stupid, lopsided grin that reminded her with a jolt exactly who she was talking to, and she felt like an idiot for ever being concerned. "So, you'll help me?"

She didn't miss how he phrased that. It didn't even sound like a question. His cockiness irritated her, but the fact it wasn't misplaced even more so. She really wasn't sure she had a choice anymore. Still, hesitantly, she said, "You want me to help you put your kid brother in his place… That wasn't anywhere in our original agreement. I said I'd be friends with you, I didn't say I'd be your associate in raising hell."

"It's your responsibility," Zack repeated, needlessly. "Think of it as keeping the peace."

"By enabling you and your ridiculous need to be top dog?" Zack bristled at that, proving that he _was_ more open with being a negative son of a bitch in her presence when her 'creepy brother' wasn't around, and it spurred her on. Lowly, as all their conversation had had to be in the very public location, she fumed, "Keeping the peace my ass—You just can't stand the idea of someone having something over _you_ for once. How is what he's doing any different than what you've always done? Why can't you just let him have this?"

"I don't—" he began furiously, then seemed to check himself. With a sigh and a hand through his hair, he began again, "He's young, and he doesn't understand—"

"Oh, what great power he holds," she mocked, flying back in her seat with her fingers waving in the air and eyes crossing. She snorted, a very unladylike sound, and Zack wondered not for the first time if she wasn't just a man in a woman suit. That thought flew out the window when she slammed her fist down in front of him. "It's a _poem_. One little wisp of paper. I had access to all your past poetry assignments, that's why I was able to hold it over you—he's just got one. Why is that such a big deal?"

"He doesn't understand," he said again, and wouldn't meet her eye now. She purposely sought it, but he wouldn't meet it. And then suddenly he did, and she didn't like that look in his eye. It was too much like he'd suddenly gained control of the situation again, and she knew how he loved that. His tone was slimy as he spoke again, and she instinctively recoiled back into her seat just as he leaned forward. "Hey, you're the one who was _so concerned_ he might be depressed earlier today. I'm on a quest to figure out if he's hiding anything." He tilted his head and grinned teasingly. "Don't tell me you're not at least a little bit curious. To find out why he's so… angry all the time?" He was clearly humoring her. "So tragically pessimistic?"

She _was_ curious. He wanted her to help him dig into Phil's background, he never said she had to use any of what they found against him. Zack would, but if she didn't help him, he was just going to do it by himself anyway. If she was there, then she could at least be aware of what was going on and moderate the proceedings. Maybe, she could keep him from hurting Phil.

It was that, or go home, put on her headphones, and be consumed with guilt and wave after wave of roiling, soul-crushing curiosity. Zack didn't think he was depressed, Jaron didn't think he was depressed, Sophie didn't think he was depressed.

Pam had to admit, she was pretty sure he was depressed.

Zack stuck his hand out to her then, like he already knew he'd won, and she grudgingly reached out and shook it.

The little shock she got made her instantly snap her hand back, though, and Zack's laugh fell pleasantly against her ears. "Oh, sorry. Something about the air in this place and my shirt." He shook his head and stood up, picking up his now completely melted strawberry milkshake as he went. He threw something at her, and she caught it with a gasp, the bag crinkling as it fell into her chest. Zack grinned and winked at her. "Pleasure doing business with ya. Cancel your poker plans and pack it up, we head out in five."

She observed the bag of lollypops as he swiveled on his heel and yelled, "Rosie-Pose, I need a to-go cup."

It was between the moments of tossing the bag in the car with her brother and having a slap fight with him over whether or not he should leave (which she won), and waiting for Zack to finish pouring his milkshake into the cup with his tongue stuck out like a toddler, that Pam asked Roselaine, "Hey, you've known Zack a long time, right? What's your opinion of him?"

She didn't look up from her notepad. "I have no opinion."

It was the wisest thing she'd heard all week.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two years in the past<strong>_

"Dagnabit! Best fishing weekend of the year and we didn't catch a single thing!" Grandpa Phil gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles gone white. He paused then, and looked down at the boots on his feet. "Well, save these snazzy new shoes. A little soggy, but nothing a quick run through the ol' wash and dry routine can't fix." He grinned over at his great-grandson.

"We have enough berries to last us three months," Phil noted, staring glassy-eyed at the giant cooler full of red and green berries.

Grandpa chortled. "Well, we couldn't just show up empty-handed! What would they think of us?"

"That we stink at fishing?"

"No. That we can't provide for our family, that's what!"

Phil sat back in his seat and yawned, his eyes focusing drowsily on the road. "Okay."

"It's the principle of the matter, Phil. Fishing's one of those things that we're required as men to excel at."

"I thought fishing was an excuse to get away from the women while we laze back in a boat for hours?"

"That too."

Phil smiled, and reclined his seat back a little so he could lay his head back and close his eyes.

"So…" Grandpa started innocently enough, before something a bit sly entered his tone, "the big n-i-n-e coming up."

Phil groaned and turned over on his side, his back to him. "Don't remind me."

"Oh, come on now! Don't tell me you're not looking forward to that! Nine is a good year. Not to mention one step closer to you getting the boarding house all to yourself."

Phil opened his eyes. "Right."

Grandpa huffed, amused. He murmured sarcastically, "Your enthusiasm warms me…" He shook his head. "Honestly, Philly, when you were born I was counting on you to be my partner in crime. The trick to my treat. The Bonnie to my Clyde—" he heard Phil snort and smirked slightly, popping a couple berries into his mouth. "Instead you're just a big party pooper. Just like—like—" he slapped a hand to his face, "Arnold. Oh, Heavens to Betsy, you're going to be the end of me. Please don't tell me you're going to be a repeat of _that_. Never wanting to play any games, easily exasperated over a joke, always looking at me like I'm crazy or something…" He sighed and tried to run a hand through his hair, but then remembered he didn't have any and frowned as his hand met open air.

Phil turned back over and sat up with a sigh. "I'm not, Grandpa, really. I'm just a little tired."

Grandpa looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Uh-huh. So if I stopped at a bank, here and now, ran in and came back out with two sack-fulls of hundred dollar bills, would you be my getaway car?"

"I can't drive—"

"_Would you?_"

Phil jerked back at the outburst, and yelled without thinking, "No! No, I wouldn't! I'd jump out of the other end and claim to never have seen you in my life!"

Grandpa relaxed, his face melting into contentment. "That'a boy."

Phil stared at him like he was senile, his chest heaving.

Grandpa jovially switched topics, "But anyway, you're going to love being nine. Trust you me, it's a big milestone for Shortman men. Oodles of fun." He stuffed a few more berries into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Making a small noise, he looked over at Phil and offered him a few. "Want some?"

Phil pushed the hand away, laughing a little uneasily. "I'll pass. Um…" he scratched the back of his head, leaning back, "why is nine a big milestone? Are you going to send me out into the wilderness for twenty-four hours to discover the meaning of life and what it means to become a man?"

Grandpa scoffed. "'Course not! What do you take us for? A bunch of crazy people? No, no." He chuckled. "This is just when the family curse sets in."

Phil snapped a wide-eyed look on him. "The what?"

"You know… the Shortman family curse." A flashlight was produced out of thin air and clicked on beneath Grandpa's chin, casting shadows over every jutting bone and sagging wrinkle on his face. "Every generation, as far back as any of us can possibly know, has had something very strange happen to them on their ninth year…"

Phil bit his thumbnail to the quick. "What? What is it? What happens?"

Grandpa clicked the flashlight off and threw it in the back, causing a violent clatter and smash. "They get the living daylights snogged out of 'em by a girl."

A beat.

"Huh?"

Grandpa laughed at the confounded look on his face. "You heard right. Or, well, I guess we didn't all get snogged. Both me and your dad did, that's for sure. I guess a better way to put it would be… Something major's going to happen in your love life. Like… you might actually _get_ a love life." He chortled.

Phil stared at him a long moment, before he rolled his eyes and turned his eyes back out the window. "Interesting. What happened to Grandpa Miles then?"

Grandpa stopped at that, and looked up, a hand to his chin. "Huh… Now that you mention it, I don't know. Must've skipped over him." He shrugged.

Phil repressed another eye roll. "Okay."

"You don't seem all that concerned."

"Why should I be? I don't care about any girls."

"Not even the girl you're inevitably going to marry?"

Phil paused at that, before looking back at him. "Huh?"

Grandpa gazed ahead innocently, leaning forward in his seat to avoid the searching eyes of his protégé. "Oh, nothing, nothing… What do you feel like tonight? Chinese, Mexican…?"

"I'm thinking French," Phil muttered sarcastically. "Cough it up, Grandpa. What do you mean 'inevitably going to marry'?"

Grandpa looked at him wryly, his eyebrows high. "Why, exactly what I said. The girl you are going to marry. You know, marry as in," he hummed 'Here Comes the Bride,' his shoulders doing a small dance in tune with the song.

Phil blinked, dumbly. "But I'm eight."

"Not for long, you aren't." He winked, an impish grin spreading across his face. "Not after we send you out into the wilderness." Snickering, he leaned back in his seat and made an abrupt left turn, the tires momentarily squealing. Phil slammed back into his seat and gripped his seatbelt with an iron grip. Once they were on straight road again, Grandpa slowed the car and smiled.

After a couple minutes, Phil's racing mind finally managed to properly absorb and process this information, and once it did, his face fell flat. "Okay." He leaned his head against his window, crossing his arms. "Sounds like fun."

Grandpa hummed. "Unconcerned again, are we?"

Phil shrugged vaguely, staring blankly out the window. "It skipped over Grandpa Miles, so it's clearly not an _exact_ curse. I don't see why it couldn't just skip over me too. Besides, all these 'family curses' never come true. Wasn't there a curse that we're all gonna die at ninety-one? And yet you're well into your hundreds now, Grandpa."

Grandpa's eyes sparkled. "Agh, I rigged that one. I've been celebrating my 90th birthday for well over twenty years now. I don't even remember my exact age anymore."

Phil quietly snorted. "Right," he stretched the word out. "Whatever you say, Grandpa. But still, there's just as much chance the curse won't happen, as it will, so whatever happens this year is still a mystery. Nothing's changed." A small shower of tiny water droplets splattered against the glass. His eyes followed the path they made as they slid down.

Grandpa put on the wipers. "What if it comes true?"

Phil looked over at him, shrugging again, more bluntly this time. "She'd better be a stone-cold fox then, that's all I've got to say."

Grandpa burst out in a cackling laugh at that, and grabbed up his canteen so he could toast it in his direction. "Here, here." He threw back a swig.

Phil took the canteen from him when it was offered and took a swallow. Swiping his tongue over his chapped upper lip, he looked back over at Grandpa and asked, "Was Grandma everything you hoped for? You know, before she…" He spun his forefinger in a circle near his temple with a grimace.

"Oh, yeah." He bobbed his head, keeping his eyes focused on the road. "In her younger years, she was really something. Wickedly intelligent, feisty, stubborn as a mule. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting much outta her—barely even saw her after I had to drop out of school to go to work, so I didn't ever know what became of her. But when I came back from the war, I caught her snooping around the train station, peeking around the train cars; apparently to make sure I was alive. I confronted her, and I was shocked by how… much she'd grown." He coughed. "Anyway, she said she just wanted to make sure I got home, she was glad I did, etcetera, etcetera—tried to write it off like it was nothing, basically, but I saw through her. And so I—"

"Wait a second," Phil interrupted, looking at him queerly, "you didn't get with her when you were nine?"

Grandpa snorted. "Heck no! She was a sadistic, raving sociopath who tortured me on a regular basis. When she confessed to being in love with me, I did what any sensible nine-year-old boy would do. I told her she must be off her rocker if she thought I would ever even consider going steady with her and high-tailed it out of there. We never spoke since."

Phil stared at him, his eyes large and jaw dropped.

Grandpa stroked at his chin. "Now then, where was I? Oh, yes! Train station, directly after World War II. It was a sunny day in ol' Hillwood, New York as I whistled a jaunty tune and enjoyed a nice cold-cut sandwich—"

"No!" Phil practically shouted, wild-eyed. "You were talking to Grandma!"

"Oh! Right, right. Thanks, mini-me. Don't know what I'd do without ya. Anywho, back to the story—Geez Louise, it's really pouring out here!" He leaned forward to squint out through the rain.

"_Grandpa!_"

He snapped out of it. "Okay! Hold your horses! I was getting to it." He took a deep, long breath… and then exhaled, relaxing his shoulders. He repeated the process. Meanwhile Phil practically vibrated in his seat, his hands clenching and unclenching with each second he didn't speak. Finally, Grandpa let out a tranquil sigh and said pleasantly, "Now then, as I was saying, your grandma tried to weasel her way out of it, but I saw straight through her act. It had also just been raining, so I saw straight through a couple other thing as well, if you know what I'm sayin.'" He nudged him with his elbow, winking a couple times with a wide grin.

Phil just stared at him.

Grandpa leaned away and coughed again against his fist, nodding. "Right. You're eight. Hehe, _anyway_—I told her I knew why she was there, that I thought she was a pretty all right dame, and asked her if she wanted to be my gal. Her response was to punch me in the face."

Phil winced.

"Yep. Guess she caught onto the fact I wasn't asking her out for her chess skills 'cause she called me a pig and stormed off after that. I was pretty torn up about it. Couldn't remember the last time a girl rejected me so soundly." He scratched his head, baffled. "I followed her around a lot after that. I don't know why. To spite her? Maybe as some personal irony? Point is I ended up learning a lot about her. Where she worked, what she did, what she liked to do… and the oddest thing happened."

"What?" Phil asked quietly, dreading the answer.

"I fell in love with her."

Phil slapped his forehead. "Ahhh, you _didn't_…"

"I did! Whoo! I've gotta tell ya, you never really know a girl until you follow her around between the hours of 6:15 and 11:30. The things you learn—the things you learn that you wish you _didn't_." He shook his head to the ceiling, whistling. "Oh boy. I could write a book."

"And let me guess," Phil counted off on his fingers, his tone dry, with a mother load of ruefulness, "you confessed to her, she swooned, you got married, had one kid—the end." He crossed his arms violently and threw himself back in his seat with a dark pout.

Grandpa snorted out a laugh. "You kidding? I had to work my keister off to get her to even give me the light of day again! It took _months_! Finally managed to wear her down enough to get her to go out on a date with me, though, and after a few months more of chasing her down, she gave up and we got hitched."

Phil looked like he was in physical pain. "That's… lame."

Grandpa chuckled. "Maybe story-wise, but I think you'll find as you get older, that the women worth having are often the ones you have to fight for. Or fight with." He chortled. "You'll see what I mean. For us Shortman men, finding the perfect woman is never an easy task. I kept all this from your dad when he was your age, but you—I think a little word of warning isn't going to hurt anything." He winked.

Phil clasped his hands over his mouth and closed his eyes, feeling sick to his stomach. The canteen lay forgotten between them on the seat.

Grandpa laughed, something a tad smug crossing his face. "Not so unconcerned now, are ya?"

"Oh, believe me," Phil muttered hoarsely with painful sincerity, moving his hands down over his chest, "I am _very_ concerned."

Grandpa whooped with victory and grabbed another handful of berries in celebration. "There ya go! Nine's starting to look pretty good now, eh?"

"I think I'm gonna vomit."

Grandpa didn't react for a while. The words took their sweet time processing with him, but once they did, he whipped his head around. "What?"

Phil's face was as green as his shirt. "I—I think I'm gonna—" He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

The Packard skidded up to a gas station almost within that same second, water spraying up like a tidal wave and soaking the gas jockey to the bone. The jockey stood dead-eyed, dripping head to toe, and spat a long stream of water out of his mouth like a fountain as soon as the car was in park.

The car door opened slowly, warily, and Phil came stumbling out, one hand over his stomach and the other on the door handle. He looked hopeful a second, but then his stomach gargled and his face soured and the next thing he knew he was rushing over to the bushes and puking his guts out.

Grandpa stepped out of his side of the car and looked over at him worriedly.

"Fill-up?" the jockey asked tonelessly.

Grandpa mumbled something his brain thought were words but was actually a bunch of garbled pig Latin, and waved a distracted hand in his direction as he wandered over to where his great-grandson was wreaking havoc on the scenery.

Hovering over him, he asked, "You ate the green berries when I wasn't looking, didn't ya?"

Phil groaned, and with a few final hacks to make sure the bush was as good as dead, stepped away and fell back on the concrete. He kept his eyes shut and panted into the rain-thick chill of the wilderness, supported by little more than his trembling limbs and force of will.

Grandpa gave his best chiding, serious frown, hands fisted on his bony hips. "Now I know you think they look pretty—"

"I don't want to grow up," Phil interrupted, opening his eyes to stare up at him. His eyes were glossy, his breathing still heavy, almost panicked. "I can't do it. I _won't_."

Grandpa's eyebrows flew up.

"Fill-up?" the jockey called.

Phil's breathing was only getting quicker, and he shifted with agitated speed to pull his legs up and scoot back up against the greenery. "I can't marry Mercy, I just _can't! _You can't make me!"

"Whoa, whoa," Grandpa made a motion to settle down. "No one's making you do anything. What's this all about?"

Phil continued on as if he hadn't heard him, face twisted in agony, words fast as the rain trapping them under the veranda. "You don't get it, nobody gets it, she's _evil_. I'm gonna be stuck behind a desk and wearing suits and answering phones and doing paperwork with everyone dead and it never ends, it never _ends_, and now on top of all that I have to get married to _Mercy Laporte_?" His voice raised an octave, looking on the verge of self-destructing on the spot. "I can't do it, Grandpa, I just can't, it's too much—"

"Now, now, just hold your horses for a minute here." Grandpa stepped over, bent down and carefully perched himself on the shrub's edging, legs spread with a few cracking bones and a long sigh. Phil snapped a distressed look on him. He shook his head. "Let me see if I've got this straight. You've got some little girl picking on you who drives you up the wall, and now you're afraid you're doomed to be shackled to her for life in the most thoroughly binding of holy ordinances. Do I have that right?"

Phil hesitated, obviously still shaken. "Well. There are three, actually."

Grandpa paused. The corners of his mouth jumped. "Three?"

"But they're like her minions, they don't have any brains of their own," Phil quickly amended, his hands fumbling between his legs. "They just do whatever she wants them to."

"Ah, cohorts. I know how those are." Grandpa nodded, a wry smile curling his mouth. "Pookie was in league with my sister. Sometimes the pranks and hair-pulling would get so bad that I'd sneak out and sleep in the woodpile just to escape 'em. Oh, the back aches I used to wake up with—I can still feel 'em." He smiled in fond recollection.

Phil threw his head into his hands.

Grandpa chortled. "Aw, Phil, this is a gift! Now you won't be flabbergasted when she lays one on ya and declares her eternal devotion!"

Lightning quick, Phil was scrambling back and vomiting his intestines into the bushes again.

Grandpa had to scratch his head. "This is quite the reaction." When Phil didn't immediately rise after emptying his stomach, he made a consoling noise and reached over to pat his back. "Oh, there, there, short man jr., growing up's not so bad. Sure, you're stuck in a life of endless drudgery and you're surrounded by hair-brained oafs who don't know the difference between a fire extinguisher and a can of gasoline and you haven't spoken to your sister in seventy-one years," a soft exhale, "and eventually your bones start to ache and your mind goes and the foods you used to love don't agree with ya anymore and you can't… you can't remember…" He stopped. A moment stretched on. "What was I saying?"

"What's good about growing up," Phil rasped.

"Oh! Right, right. Well, sure, you've gotta deal with all that stuff, but, you get to drive cars."

Phil hung his head.

"You can also get into all the juicy, x-rated films," Grandpa added slyly, nudging him with his arm.

Phil's head fell lower.

"Fill-up?" the jockey called again.

With a long-suffering sigh, Phil pushed himself up from the ground and sweeped the front of his shirt off with his hand. "Come on, Grandpa, let's go home."

Grandpa frowned at him, his eyebrows scrunched. "No, now, something's still troubling ya and I'm determined to set you straight. Can't have your fragile young psyche sustaining any life-long trauma just 'cause your poor old grandpa couldn't keep his trap shut." He lowered his voice and hunched conspiratorially forward, "Also, your parents'll kill me." Leaning back, he made a circling motion with his hand. "Now come on, let's hear it."

"I'm tired," Phil murmured unhappily, his shoulders slumped. When Grandpa continued to stare expectantly at him, he straightened a little and looked away with a sigh, crossing his arms. "It's just… Mercy's not like Grandma Gertie, or Mom, or Grandma Stella, or, anyone in our family. She's cold and vapid and boring. She's not smart, she's not funny, she's not clever, she's not nice—she's got a lot of nerve, but I wouldn't call her particularly brave either. There's literally _nothing_ good about her. I can't see myself being _friends_ with her, let alone f… feeling…" He shuddered.

Grandpa rubbed his chin. "Hmm, that is a pickle. You sure she's not secretly—?"

"No."

"Not masking any—"

"No."

"Not even—"

"Nope."

Grandpa whistled. "That's a shame."

"So that's it?" Phil gaped like a fish, spreading his arms out pleadingly. "I'm just doomed?"

Grandpa frowned and reached over to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. "Sorry, kiddo. All the signs are there. You can't help who you fall for."

Phil grabbed at his stomach with one hand and clapped his other over his mouth, his eyes going hazy with illness. But there wasn't anything more he could throw up, unless he wanted to upchuck his heart and lungs. Maybe that would be okay, though. If he really didn't have a heart, then maybe he _couldn't_ be cursed. Now there was an idea. He filed it away as a last case scenario.

"But… but…" he spoke when he was sure the threat of organ vomit wasn't imminent anymore, "you cheated death! I don't see why I can't cheat l—l—" Oh, boy, there was the nausea again.

Grandpa's eyebrows had already flown to the sky in understanding, though. "That's true!" His eyes wandered away in thought. "You know, I think this is the first time a Shortman really knew what he was in for before it happened. I betcha we could find some way around it. Like, we could, ohhh… we could always celebrate your eighth birthday this year again."

Phil was unimpressed. "Er, yeah. No. I don't think Mom and Dad'll go with that. Plus it could get creepy when I'm twenty someday and still celebrating my eighth birthday every year."

Grandpa frowned thoughtfully. "True."

They both thought about it for a while. The rain-tinged wind whipped by every few moments, carrying with it a brisk chill and the light scent of gasoline and earth. The gas attendant stood a few yards away, gazing boredly in their general direction.

Finally, Phil asked, "What if I just found another girl?"

Grandpa raised an eyebrow.

Phil's mind was racing, growing more awake by the second. "Yeah… Yeah, if I just ignored Mercy for the whole year and stuck with this other girl throughout that entire time, maybe the curse won't have any other choice but switch to her? Like a trade-off?"

"You can't stop her from torturing you," Grandpa pointed out ruefully, smirking ever so slightly.

Phil frowned. That was true. And he wasn't very good at ignoring her. She always managed to find some new reason for him to want to crush her into the dirt, to make her pay, to get _even_. There was no way that could be the beginnings of a love that would last the rest of his life. There was just no way. But the curse… the signs… and it would _so figure_…

Helplessly, he muttered, "I have to try."

"Okay." Grandpa shifted to get a little more comfortable, and smiled humoringly at his protégé. "Let's say it does work, and you find yourself entangled with this new girl. You realize you'll have to marry her, then? Have anyone in mind?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

But Phil's face twisted, dispatching that notion with an all-answering snort. "Ha, and be like Zack and Josh with their heads always stuffed up their butts? As if. I don't have time for that kind of nonsense." With rounding eyes, he quickly amended, "But I've never looked, I'm sure I can find someone. At this point, a fire hydrant would be better than Mercy."

Grandpa burst out with a laugh that Phil imagined rustled all the leaves behind him, rather than the breeze. "Well, if anyone can cheat fate, it's us Phils! I support you one-hundred percent!" He swung his fist through the air.

Just as Phil was returning his grin, the jockey yelled pointedly at them, "_Fill—Up!_"

Phil tossed a scathing look over his shoulder while Grandpa sighed and began the treacherous task of standing on his own two feet. Things were going decently enough for the first few seconds, but then something cracked mid-hunch out of the blue and he howled, falling back on his butt. Phil snapped a panicked look on him and rushed over to stand behind him. Gently at first, he started to push.

With both their efforts, and only a few close calls, they managed to get him upright. Grandpa laughed his way through the pain and reached back to run a hand over Phil's hair in thanks. Phil closed his eyes and leaned into it for the second it lasted, a small, sad smile on his face as he did.

Just before they left, Grandpa flipped a nickel into the jockey's scrabbling hand with a wink. "For your troubles."

Phil rolled down his window so he could stick his tongue out at the man as they drove away. Rain smacked him in the face as soon as they were out from under the awning, though, and he gasped and quickly rolled the window back up with a sneeze.

Eventually they came across a cool little diner appropriate for dinner.

Grandpa laughed the whole way there.

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><p><strong>AN:** What's all this plot nonsense?!

So yeah, we've passed the opening-establishing-junk chapters and now we're onto the actual plot and stuff.

Oh yeah. Things are gonna get interesting now. -w-

Sara next chapter, guise. Cross my heart.

IT'S NOT LIKE I'VE BEEN WAITING TO LEGITIMATELY INTRODUCE HER FOR FOUR YEARS OR ANYTHING. I'M PERFECTLY CALM. *rocks back and forth*

All right, now for questions! Writing this from a hotel and the TV's blaring, so I'm a little distracted. Forgive me if I don't quite sound like myself. x'D

See, I almost typed "sound like I'm all there," but I never sound like I'm all there, so it wouldn't have worked.

**Q - Will Phil junior find Arnold/Grandpa Phil old prank/present that BLINDED Helga against his bullies?! XD**

**A -** Who says he hasn't already? xDDD Phil's been pranking these guys since... second or third grade? And Phil's good at pranks. He's had the best teachers at his disposal growing up. I'd be surprised if he hadn't already found that old thing in a box one day, accidentally blinded himself, then pulled it on the girls. Then when they went blind, rather than feeling guilty, he snickered evilly to himself. Prolly even told them it was permanent. He's a little brat that way.

There'll hopefully be at least one chapter detailing some of the hijinks between Phil and the girls. Like, here I portray it as super angsty 'cause it's all coming to a head, but it's really kinda hilarious. xD Phil just makes a big deal out of it like an overdramatic little baby. It's just who he is.

Honestly, I put a LOT of psychology into this stuff, and a lot of what Phil does is just displaced frustration. He's unhappy with how his life is, but he can't pinpoint what exactly it is about it that he finds so distasteful. So he just gets super upset about _everything_.

He's... probably both the stupidest and smartest character I've ever created. xD

**Q - What is it about blood relations of Helga and Arnold that attracts extremely violent affections and stalkerish behavior? Poor Phil XD**

**A -** S'that damn Shortman/Pataki blood! What can ya do?

Okay, usual drill. The faster and more reviews I get, the faster I'll post. I hope you enjoyed this segment of Bull Sh_—_I mean, Breathing Slowly.

It's really hard to think with the TV on, so sorry if any of this is weird. I'm rubbing my temples over here. x'''D Love you guys!

**_REVIEW!_**


	26. Breathing Slowly: Part 6

**A/N: **The next couple weeks are gonna be crazy for me so I wanted to get this done while I still could. Just posting quick before I pass out. I hope you enjoy! I'm not just saying that!

**~THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING MY STUPID FANFIC~**

**coldblue**

**puffball17**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**Da Darkest Knight**

**metalheadrailfan**

**findingfabstories**

**KarinaWatchadoin**

**NerdilyNi**

Reviews are love. :) So thank you all very much.

Last of the angst for a while now. ;D Pretty much all of Phil's background bullshit has been established after this chapter. x'D Yay for forward motion.

**Disclaimer: **Kori Johanssen belongs to **xxP00h67chu**. Taro belongs to **metalheadrailfan**. All other unrecognizable characters (from the original series) are mine. RESPECT THE OWNAGE.

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><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 6**

_"Every step that I take is another mistake to you_

_And every second I waste is more than I can take"_

_—Linkin Park_

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><p>"Phil, move…" Zack breathed, pushing him in the shoulder as he carefully shifted his bodyweight.<p>

He didn't move, keeping his eyes bolted on the TV. "This is the living room. I have more right to be here than you do. _You_ move."

The girl currently residing under Zack stared at him upside down, dark milky brown eyes irritated and slightly glazed. She panted lightly, "Zacky, really, can't you control your brother?"

Zack huffed, amused, and pulled her closer to him, bumping into Phil in the process. "Trying."

"Zacky, really, can't you control your tramp?" Phil asked in a nasty, nasally tone, clicking through the channels aggressively.

The girl gasped and pushed against Zack, trying to sit up while he kissed her cheek. "Zack!"

Zack shushed her and ran a soothing hand over her head, whispering something fast and reassuring in her ear that Phil didn't care to make out before shifting up slightly, supported by his arms on the couch. He gave Phil the most serious face he could, which wasn't very serious at all, despite his efforts. "Phil, come on, gimme a break. You can't talk about my… my…"

"Andrea," she flirted.

Zack grinned down at her. "_My_ Andrea like that. You know she's head of the debate team? She could argue you under the table." She blushed and squirmed happily under him.

Phil kept clicking. "Good for her. That's a neat trick. Could she possibly argue herself out of our house? That'd be even neater."

Andrea glared at him. "Honestly, aren't you like two? You ought to be cleaning your room and changing your diaper, not bothering us big kids when we're in the middle of a very important discussion." She pressed a kiss to Zack's neck.

Phil finally turned his head to look at Zack. His face was one of disbelief. "I can't believe you've been dating _this_ for a week."

"Huh?" Zack babbled a little, his face pink as Andrea continued her slow seduction of him, before the words finally processed and he chuckled, a bit hysterically. "Oh. Oh, no, I met Andrea yesterday at the antique store."

"Then what happened to that girl you were so excited to get a date with? The one with the curves or whatever?" He kept on clicking, passing by horrid cartoon after repetitive game show after snore-worthy golf program.

"Oh, you mean Stephanie?" Zack bit his lip in thought, his limbs trembling slightly. "Sadie? Sarah? So—_Sophie_, that was it." Andrea bit him in the shoulder and his limbs finally gave out, awkwardly crushing the girl into the sofa. She didn't seem to mind but Zack's brain was mush. "We… We just… uh… Think we could talk about this another time, buddy?" He laughed shakily.

Phil sniffed. "Yeah, sure. I know how demanding dogs are."

With a loud scoffing gasp, Andrea pushed Zack completely off onto the floor with a thump and sat up. "Look, I came over here for a little fun but if this is how I'm gonna be treated—"

"Aw, hey." Zack sat up, putting a hand on her knee. "Don't be like that, you know how little brothers are."

"Yeah, and I get enough of this at home without needing to deal with it at my _boyfriend's_ too." Huffing, she stood up from the couch and ran a hand through her hair. "I'll call you later, sugar. Think you'll be available?"

Zack laid languidly back down on the carpet and kicked one leg up over the other, smirking. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

Andrea returned his smirk. "Yeah, we'll see." She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, right in front of Phil's line of vision. He whined and tried to look around them, but Andrea made sure to be _very_ thorough. Finally, she parted from him with a loud smack and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "We… will… see."

With that, she dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor and stepped around him, throwing an annoyed look at Phil as she went. "Bye, brat."

"Later, Generic Girlfriend Number 990 who I'll probably never see again."

Andrea humphed and walked out the door.

After a few moments, Zack sighed, his face still pink and heart pounding, "Can't give me _one_ break?"

"Now why would I wanna do a thing like tha—Hey, look! Yo Ernest is on!"

Zack let out a quiet groan and rubbed his hands over his face, rolling on his side. After a little while, he started laughing, starting out with a slow chuckle that deepened and gained strength over the matter of several seconds. Shaking his head in the wake of his laugh attack, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

Phil kicked his legs up and rested his feet on Zack's head. "So, what was so wrong with the mysterious Sophie that she didn't even last a week?"

Zack reached up and tickled Phil's foot. He squeaked and snatched his legs back. Zack turned a smirk on him, one half of his eyebrow elevated. "Typical cliché scary dad. Ya know, eyes of fire, teeth of steel. Kept giving me death glares over his newspaper." He faked a shudder. "_Too_ risky. I just took her to a movie, held her hand and walked her home. I wasn't even gonna do anything else, but her mom caught us at the front door and gave me the once-over then, too. Thanked me for bringing her home on time before practically caveman dragging her back into the house." He stretched luxuriously, his satisfied sigh getting interrupted by a soft chuckle. "I don't know what it is, but something tells me I wouldn't be welcome a second time."

"Now that's too bad," Ernie's scratchy voice sounded as he walked into the room, a bowl of cheesebits cradled in his arm as he took a hopping seat next to Phil, causing him to bounce slightly. "That's just a darn shame. Parents—You know, parents are always doin' those sorts of things. Always making fast judgments and thinking they know what's best. But you can't—You can't judge true love. When I had to meet Lola's parents for the first time, whoa," he held his hands out with a hard, mocking expression, cheesebits sitting precariously in his lap, "I been dating their kid for six months, already talked to them on the phone a couple'a times, everything's peachy, but then they see me and _presto_, suddenly I ain't good enough anymore. Parents… Parents need to get their eyes examined if they can't see what a catch you are. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

Zack's smirk softened into a smile. "Thanks for the sentiment, Ernie, but I'm all right. It's not like she was my soul mate or anything."

"Right, right. But still, you keep that in mind. Sage advice from your old uncle. You never know when it might come in handy." Tossing a couple cheesebits back, he spoke between chews, "That's the thing, you know—Parents are always wanting to control everythin,' makin' all the decisions, 'cause they're terrified their kids are gonna do something stupid, and," he snorted, lips smacking, "that's no way to raise a kid. Kids are gonna be kids, you gotta let them _roam_, y'know? Be stupid, learn from it. Figure things out for themselves. Otherwise, they'll start resenting you never letting 'em do nothin', and they'll just sneak out and do whatever you don't want 'em to do anyway, most of the time just to spite ya—Alls you can do, at the end of the day, is raise them right, give 'em good morals, and just trust that they'll make the right choices. Kids respond positive to adults havin' faith in 'em, anyway."

Zack smiled at him tentatively, something soft and amused shining in his eyes. "Makes sense, I guess."

Phil nodded, and with a firm, serious look, said, "I agree wholeheartedly."

Ernie grinned and reached over to ruffle his hair. "Ha! I knew there was a reason I liked you. You got brains, kid." Snickering at Phil's groan, he settled back into the cushions and leaned over to get a better view of the TV. "So what we watching? Agh, what…" he put a hand to his forehead, "_cartoons?_"

Phil threw a raised eyebrow at him. "I'm eight, what did you expect?"

"No, no, you're gonna be nine soon and I hardly ever see ya down here! It's about time you moved up on the TV guide. I'll show you what real TV viewing pleasure is! Gimme that." He snatched the remote from his hand and pressed in the appropriate numbers. Before Phil could protest, the TV flickered and switched to clashing swords and trains shooting at a hundred miles an hour. Phil's mouth fell open, the words dying in his throat.

While the three boys watched in morbid fascination as the train sped over a cliff and exploded in a fiery inferno, Helga raced into the room and barred the doorway with her body, arms and legs spread out as she heaved. She spoke frantically, as if warning them of an impending meteorite, "She's here early!"

Ernie and Zack turned their heads to look at her. "Who's here?"

"_Her_… It… She…" Helga panted again, her torso shaking from the force of her heavy, panicked breaths. "She's here _way_ ahead of schedule and—" Her eyes clenched shut in pain as, sure enough, a loud knocking came from the front door.

Hearing the commotion, Arnold wandered in from the dining room and looked questionably at her. "Helga?"

"Oh, thank sweet merciful creation!" She hustled over and crouched behind him, her fingernails digging like razorblades into his forearms. "Hide me."

"Helga…" Arnold began patiently, but was interrupted by more knocking. Helga's arms snapped around him like a snake's strike, pulling him back into her for protection. He tilted precariously backwards and laughed. "Helga! It's just the door, come on—"

"It's more than just—" she rushed out in a high-pitched breath, but then froze as she realized what she was doing. Slowly, her arms retracted and she stepped around him, tugging her shirt down with a measured breath. "No. No, you're right. I was just surprised. I expected to have more time to prepare." Her nerves spiked again as she looked at him and asked edgily, "How do I look?"

Arnold's amusement softened into fond exasperation as he reached a hand up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Beautiful, as always." He raised an eyebrow then. "What's this all about?"

The knocking came again, more insistent, and Helga sighed, her eyes dulled with the world-weariness of someone twice her age. "Just… You'd better come see for yourself."

She walked tall and proud out of the parlor, Arnold trailing behind, when they both came to stand in front of the door. She took a deep breath, gathered her bravery, and promptly, hid behind Arnold again when the knocking came once more, the door practically shaking off it's hinges with the force of the harsh pounding. Ernie, Zack and Phil all peeked out the doorway just in time to watch as Arnold sighed and finally turned the doorknob.

The door was kicked out of his hand a second after to reveal a large stack of bags and suitcases in varying shades of green all held up by a pair of black slacks and brown leather wingtips. The stack wobbled and bellowed, "About darn time!"

An extravagantly made up golden head popped out from behind him, smiling brilliantly. "Baby brother-in-law! Good day to you!"

For a minute, Arnold was only capable of staring. He managed to snap out of it quickly enough, though, and offered back a smile of his own. "Olga, hey, we weren't expecting you so soon." He winced after, afraid that he may have offended her. To help lessen the blow he may have just unwittingly inflicted, he reached out and started carefully plucking some of the bags out of Bob's arms. "Oh, here, let me—"

Instantly half the luggage was thrust into his arms, nearly causing him collapse. He ended up falling back into Helga, who thankfully managed to keep him and the luggage upright, as Big Bob Pataki pinned him with a hard, inscrutable expression.

Rather than commenting on the scene he clearly had an opinion about, he looked around the hall sharply, impatiently searching. "Where's the athletic one with the funny head?" Without waiting for an invitation, he barreled in, arms still full with too many bags for his liking. "I've been lugging this junk everywhere and I've had just about enough of feeling like a dang pack mule."

Olga traipsed daintily in with a giggle and gentle slap on Bob's shoulder. "Oh, Daddy, you're so funny. It's not that bad. I only packed the bare essentials—clothes, jewelry, books, scripts, electronics, cooking supplies, things I'll need for my twice-daily toilette…" She counted on her fingers.

Helga had noticeably paled.

That was the moment Josh decided to come down the stairs to see what all the noise was, only to have a heavy stack of suitcases forced into his arms before he could even get the words, "What's going on," out of his mouth.

Big Bob let out a blustery sigh of relief and cracked his knuckles. "Phew, much better. Thanks, kid." He turned to Olga without waiting for a reply (which was good, 'cause Josh didn't have one), shaking his arms out as he said, "I ain't young enough to be doing that sort of heavy lifting anymore. You're gonna break your old dad, Olga."

Olga smiled at him, eyes sparkling with some hidden amusement. The silent 'As if you could ever break' hung between them for a moment before she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and finally, _finally_ (too damn soon) turned to see Helga hiding behind her very awkwardly standing husband. All amusement was replaced with a gleeful, teasing grin. She snapped her arms out. "Baby sister!"

Helga laughed shakily. "Big sister…"

With a squeal, Olga pounced, all but shoving Arnold out of the way in her eagerness to throw her arms around Helga and swing her around, twirling on her feet. "It's so good to see you!"

Helga choked, stumbling with a deep cringe in the spiraling circles around the hall until the spinning mercifully ceased. Once she felt she'd gained enough of her faculties to remember what words were again, she squeaked, "You're a month early."

Olga pulled back to grin at her. "Surprise! I couldn't wait. We've been apart for far too long already; I couldn't bear to lengthen our separation even a moment more." She squeezed her arms with a warmer grin, practically bouncing on her high-heeled feet. "Besides, a nice, long visit to properly catch up is just what we've been needing."

Helga's mouth twitched. "That's just…" she sighed, "brilliant as usual, Olga."

Olga squealed one last time and pulled her into another quick hug before stepping back to smile welcomingly at the doorway dwellers. "Well, who do we have here?" Stepping forward, she placed a theatric finger at the side of her thought and pretended to ponder. The three all stood in the doorway now, side-by-side, no longer making any attempts at concealing their presence since it was apparently pointless. Olga tapped her finger as she looked the first of them over. "Ernie Potts…"

Ernie gave a gruff laugh and bowed slightly, playing along. "At your service, lady."

Olga's teeth shone as her eyes drifted over onto Zack, who was wearing one of his more bemused (though thoroughly diverted) expressions. "Little Zachary Shortman, looking not so little anymore…"

Zack's only reaction was for his grin to widen to almost painful intensity and his eyes to sparkle bluer.

"And who's this?" Olga's eyes settled upon Phil, who was looking at her like she was an alien sunflower that had just popped out of the floor. Olga wasn't to be deterred from her purpose, however, and knelt down next to him with a graceful flourish. "No…" she breathed in faux disbelief. "Could this handsome young man be Phillip? Turning nine years old? That can't be! The last time I saw you was when you were a mere babe cradled in your father's arms!"

Phil's eyebrows were practically to the ceiling. "_You're_ supposed to be a genius?" The words were out his mouth and slamming everyone in the face before the thought 'Well that might be rude' could even properly develop. Or develop at all, really.

While everyone else was staring at him with varying degrees of shock and horror, Olga only laughed and rose. "Oh, Helga, he's precious! He sounds just like you at that age!"

Helga slapped her hands together and forced out a laugh that came out sounding a bit delirious. "Okay! Olga! Why don't we get you settled in then and we can talk more about this later? Where's Charlie and the girls?"

"Oh, they're not here yet. I went ahead early while Charles stayed to wrap things up, tie up a few loose ends, you know." She waved a hand.

Arnold then reinserted himself into the conversation, "We haven't made up your room yet so it's gonna need a little airing out, but it should be fine. We'll get you some fresh sheets and pillows and you'll be all set within the hour." He shifted the various bags in his arms and nodded with a reassuring smile. Whether it was meant to reassure her or himself, he couldn't say.

Olga opened her mouth to happily agree when she remembered something. "Oh! I nearly forgot!" She turned her head to smile mysteriously at Phil as she walked over to Arnold. "I have something for you." Phil blinked, still with that look of alien sunflower disbelief.

After sifting through the bags in Arnold's arms for a few moments while he struggled not to let any fall, she dove her hand in and pulled out a large elaborate black tote the words 'Literacy: Change the World, One Reader at a Time' printed on the side over an intricate and colorful abstract art design. The bag looked expensive in itself, so when she pulled out a thick leather bound book titled 'The Many Forms of Poetry,' it only made the fact this woman was very, _very_ well off all the more shamelessly evident.

Olga held the book reverently as she turned back to Phil, though her attention was on everyone in the room as she laughed, "I just picked this up on the way over. There's a charming little bookstore in the city that sells all sorts of beautiful tomes. I couldn't resist stopping in. Finding this was just a bonus!" Bending down to accommodate Phil's height, she ran a hand fondly down the front of the book before presenting it to him. "This was my absolute favorite book when I was a girl. It has everything from prose to drama to satire. Your mother being who she is, and from what I remembered of you, I thought you might appreciate this."

The book was gently laid into his hands, and he stared at it, eyebrows furrowed, like he was trying to work out how exactly to react.

The choice was made for him when Bob stormed over and snatched the book from his hands. "Ohhhh, no, now, none of this, Olga. Poetry may have been okay for you girls but Phil's a boy, and I don't want any of this whimsical nonsense tainting his mind."

Helga scoffed and caused a small earthquake with her own approach. "Excuse me? Last time I checked, Phil was _my_ son, and if '_whimsical tainting'_ is what he enjoys, then he is more than allowed to 'taint' himself to his heart's content! _You_ don't get a say on the matter, _Dad_."

"Hey now, I think I'd know better than—" Bob started to argue, hands and book held up in a gesture of 'Well _excuse_ me for knowing your own son better than you.'

Olga stomped her foot suddenly, shocking everyone but Bob and Helga, who looked merely startled, and then silently abashed. Olga gave them both a stern look. "No fighting, you two, least of all today. This is a happy occasion, a time to come together as a family and remember the good times, not reenact the bad."

Turning swiftly around without waiting for a response, she knelt back and gently asked Phil, "Will you accept my gift?"

Phil eyed her. "Yeah."

Bob turned a thundery look on him, but Olga paid it no mind as she dutifully plucked the book from his meaty grip and handed it over to Phil, clasping his hand over the top of it as if to ensure that it stayed in his hands this time. Her smile was warm and friendly. "You don't have to love or hate it, you just need to know I was thinking of you." She squeezed his hand.

With that, she stood for the final time from the floor and took out a couple more gorgeously bound – though much thinner – books from her tote, grinning at everyone, including the few other curious residents sticking their heads down from the top of the stairs. "I have more for everyone, and so much to tell! I picked up a lovely roast on the way here, and—Oh, Helga, you have to show me Amanda!" She looked on the verge of bursting into tears just at the thought.

Helga sent Bob one last warning look before leading Olga up the stairs, telling her all about how Amanda was out with Miles and Stella at the moment and wasn't expected back for another hour, as Arnold and Josh were left to sigh and stumble their way after the two. Ernie was finding the entire thing way too funny to stick behind, so he followed after them as well, offering to take some of the pale green burdens off their backs. Zack lagged behind just long enough to throw Phil a look of stellar amusement, promising many hours of teasing for this later on, before practically leaping up the stairs two at a time.

This left Bob and Phil, predictably, alone. Phil sighed and held the book out for him to take. He did so almost violently. With that out of the way, Phil grabbed his arm and pulled him into the vacant parlor.

Bob fell gratefully back against the plush cushions of the sofa and threw the book carelessly on the other end. With no one around to bear witness to their interaction now, he grinned tiredly at Phil, who stood rigidly on the other side of the table. "Well, what'd'ya think?"

"That girl," he began crisply, "is my intellectual superior?"

Bob's eyes narrowed and he started, this not what he'd been expecting. Somehow he thought the initial reaction would have dissipated by now in the face of so much goodness, but apparently there was still some residual incredulity. That was understandable, so after a moment, he relaxed again and raised half his eyebrow. "The proof's in the pudding, boy-o, what do you want me to say?" Flashes of countless trophies and awards flashed in Phil's head as Bob leaned forward, arms supporting his hulking torso on his knees. "I know she's pretty, eh, enthusiastic, but that's just who she is. You should see what her mind can do—oh, man. She could'a taken the world by storm if she wanted." He looked wistfully at someplace beyond Phil, beyond the boarding house. Perhaps even beyond the universe.

Phil ran a hand over his face, trying to reconcile the image he'd always had in his head with the person he'd just met. He'd spent a good chunk of his life hearing about the woman, being compared to her, how he was apparently just below her grade point average (minus all the extracurricular activity and trophy winning, because wow, who cared?) and Bob wanted to push him beyond it so badly, but he just couldn't see the point. It was too much work. Time-consuming work, the type of work that forced you to lock all doors and sew your butt to your bookshelf, and just the thought of all the obsessive studying it must have taken to not only make straight A triple pluses on regular and advanced work while also digging her nails into every extra credit assignment and bonus essay question she could get her hands on, but also win every science fair, spelling bee, and brain bonanza within a hundred mile radius, made Phil shudder in abject terror. He was already pretty isolated with the workload he had now, and he didn't even do a quarter of the amount Olga Pataki regularly completed at his age.

Not to mention all the kids who'd had him labeled an annoying know-it-all before he was even six and teachers who seethed at the mere mention of his name. Mrs. Freitag came effortlessly to mind. How did Olga deal with that? The forced solitude, the jabbing remarks, the bullies? He'd always figured she must have been something of a hardass, like his mom, but that lady… She didn't seem like the type who could handle rejection very well.

Then again, PS 118 staff still preened over Olga forty years after her graduation, so he assumed she must simply have been so absolutely charming and beloved that nobody minded how much better she was than them. Phil didn't have the advantage of being a pretty, bubbly young blonde girl, though. He only knew how to be short, brown-haired and irritable, which he could recognize probably wasn't doing him any favors, but again, wow, who cared? He'd lost the energy to feel bad about that a long time ago.

"You could, too, ya know," Bob began innocently enough, breaking him from his musings, but Phil recognized the speech and efficiently shut him down before he could continue.

"No." Crossing his arms violently across his chest, he leaned forward and glowered at the elder. "You signed me up for the advanced coursework again behind my back." Bob opened his mouth, no doubt with some 'perfectly reasonable' argument about all that he could accomplish if he'd only work himself into the dirt, but Phil wasn't having it. "I'm not doing it, so you'd better get me off their roster before the zeros start pouring in. End of discussion."

Bob gawked at him and made some wild hand gesture that made Phil instinctively flinch. "Aw come on! What brought this on?"

Phil tilted his head back and looked to the ceiling for answers, rubbing at his arm. "I have enough on my plate with the extra credit stuff and business training." Big Bob flew up from the couch and started bounding away. Phil became visibly distressed and raised his voice at his retreating body, "The summer work, all that reading—I told you I can't take anymore! I'm done with it! If you'd just respect that and stop pushing—"

"Shhhh!" Bob waved a hand back at him from the doorway, his head poked out and looking around. "You wanna alert the whole neighborhood? Quiet down!" Phil shut up. After a few more seconds, Bob walked over to stick his head out the other door and check to ensure they were well and truly alone. Once satisfied, he turned, and his face was severe, dark eyes drilling intensely into the light green pools a couple trifling strides away. Phil instinctively straightened and stared back, standing his ground. Uncountable seconds later, he spoke gruffly, "You know I could die any day, right? I'm already living on borrowed time as it is."

Phil groaned and this time he was the one turning away.

A large hand swallowing his shoulder stopped him and he jumped, snapping his eyes up to meet Bob's. Bob's unibrow was slightly furrowed. "Is this about your little friends? You want to spend more time with them or something?"

Phil's eyes flew down. "I don't have any friends."

Bob's eyebrow fell lower and a clear frown further wrinkled his face. "Eh?" He didn't sound so much surprised as he did mildly befuddled, and that irked Phil. Slightly. He kept his eyes down as Bob continued, "What about that Redmond kid?"

Phil stiffened. Leave it to Bob to remember the one 'friend' he liked the absolute least. "We've never been friends."

"Really?" Bob scratched at his head. Puzzling over that one for a little bit, he finally just grunted and commented, "Well, you should be. Fine kid." He released his shoulder and fell back on couch again with a long exhale.

Phil stayed where he was and didn't look at him. "I don't like him. He's…" he swallowed, "stupid. Really stupid."

Bob snorted. "The kid's family is filthy stinking rich! You hear that? They're rolling in it; probably sitting on a couch with silver and gold weaved straight into the upholstery and propping their feet up on diamond-encrusted footstools. You don't have to like him. Heck, you could hate him for all I care—fact is, he's an asset. _Especially_ if he's not the brightest crayon in the box. You should learn how to start identifying those." He pointed a stern finger at him, shifting effortlessly into instructor mode. "That's another lesson for ya. Schmoozing. It took me a long time to get this one down, so it's good that you learn it now. You make nice with that boy, see if you can't get me an invitation to their mansion when their parents are home and I'll consider cutting down your workload. Eh…" He wavered a second, muttering almost too quietly to hear, "Maybe."

Phil was staring openly at him now, mouth fallen open in shock and disgust. "That's the most despicable, dishonest—"

"Ha!" Bob suddenly grinned, eyes shimmering with laughter. "No, that's business! Learn to love it, there's more where that came from."

Phil still looked like he'd smelled something foul, but soon enough, he wiped it from his mind and his face blanked. "I'm not doing that. I don't _have_ to do that. I don't care what you say, I dropped out of the advanced work and I'm not going back. It's not because of friends or anything else stupid. I just don't want to do it, so I'm not going to. _End_ of discussion."

Bob's companionable grin and warm eyes instantly vanished. "No schmoozing?" A heavy beat. "How are you expecting to sell anything with that kind of attitude?"

"I don't know!" Phil threw his hands up sardonically. "Integrity? Quality? Fair prices? Genuinely believing a product will make someone's life better? _Being a decent human being?_ Pfft, no." He waved a hand, laughing in mock self-deprecation. "No, those would be dumb methods. You're right. I should lie and manipulate and compromise everything I believe in to make sure the maximum possible number of cell phones are sold. That's a great idea."

His words hit Bob like a ton of bricks, yet again slamming him with the harsh reality of exactly what type of businessman Phil was aspiring to be. He wouldn't just refund the defective cell phone for the woman's 83-year-old mother, he'd upgrade it free of charge. He wouldn't just give a few spare quarters to appease the tearful orphan, he'd empty the cash register and half his bank account. The moment he heard how big his employee's family was, he'd push him back down into his desk chair and tell him he'd better work harder 'cause he was getting a raise. He was too dang tender-hearted, whether he'd admit to it or not, and Bob had run enough losers like that into the ground to know what happened to _those_ sorts of businesses. Kid wanted to help people more than he wanted to make money, and for possibly the billionth time, Bob cursed that Helga married that dang Arnold kid. He was a great guy, but that… that was exactly the problem.

Not that there was anything wrong with a little good nature or occasional leniency, and hey, quality, sure, if he could swing that, Bob didn't see why not (even if he didn't understand the initial _why_), but there was a measure of ruthlessness and, okay, yeah, _manipulation_ the job demanded if you wanted to be successful. And Bob had worked too hard and too long to have all that he'd built put into risk because the owner suddenly did a complete one-eighty and tried to sucker his way to the top. Big Bob's Beeper Emporium would be out of business faster than you could say, "Ah, crud, my liquor cabinet's empty."

So, in the midst of Phil's forced (sententiously) sarcastic laughter, Bob sniped in, "Hey, what do you think we been doing the last few years? Lying to your folks, sneaking around behind their backs and hiding all the extra work you put in? You know how much money I've invested to keep our little arrangement hush-hush _exactly so_ I can keep you in the advanced course and fasttrack you through the system? Because, newsflash, little man, it's pretty stinking deceitful!"

Phil's hands slammed down on the coffee table so hard the couple magazines sitting on it actually shifted, and the two soft jellybean green eyes suddenly reminded Bob more of jawbreakers. "That. Is. Different," he seethed. "Mom and Dad were out of line to try to make my decisions for me. The beeper store is my _right_, and if I have to conveniently leave out information from time to time to have that right, then I'll do it. That I have to go behind their backs is something for _them_ to be ashamed of, not me."

Bob scoffed and threw his arms up. "It isn't different at all! You befriend that kid, and _just happen_ to leave out the little detail that you don't actually like him. It's crooked, but sometimes a little deception is necessary to get what you need. Just like how if you told Helga, 'Hey, I wanna run the beeper store,' she'd tell you a flat no, if you told that Redmond kid, 'Hey, could you give me a few thousand to help out my family's business,' he'd probably look at you like you were fruit basket. But if you just do what I tell you, we get a new investor, they get a few extra bucks, and the Redmond kid gets to feel like he's got a new friend. Where's the downside?"

"The downside is that it'd be a big fat lie," Phil burst out, raising his voice and arms with a slight tremor. "A _harmful_ one, for both of us! I don't care how rich he is, it's not worth being friends with him. He laughs at my insults and smiles when I glare at him. He doesn't have a lick of sense in his head. But—" he scrubbed a hand over his forehead, "no matter how annoying, it doesn't mean I want to seriously hurt him, which I would, eventually. The only person who wins in that scenario is you." Realizing how fast his heart was racing, he gulped in a deep, shaky breath, let it all out in a fast whoosh, and asked quietly as his hand fell, "So why are we still talking about this?"

Bob didn't appear to notice his dilemma, because he leaned over and took him by the arms, meeting his eyes with his own soft, serious ones. He looked like he was trying very hard to get through to him, but his hands and the stern tilt of his brow were only making him feel more suffocated. "Because schmoozing is an important part of the business, kiddo. You need to learn how to do it or you're not gonna get far. Trust me. I'm just trying to help you."

Phil barked, "Fine!" Then checking himself, he forced his voice to calm, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We'll… We'll figure something out. Just, not now, and not like… that." He ended helplessly.

That hard, searching look was back, and Phil struggled not to squirm away. "You know we don't have forever, kid. I'm old. There's no telling if there will be time to 'figure something out' later. When things come to mind to teach you, I want to be able to do it, right then, while it's fresh on my mind. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but this is a valuable lesson. At least keep it in mind, okay? You'll thank me one day." He smiled. Phil pursed his lips and tilted his head down, breathing unevenly. Bob took this as a sign of anger and drew back, his eyebrow going straight and eyes slitting. "You know, I wasn't gonna say anything, but I got an interesting call from your teacher Friday—"

Phil's breathing spiked and hands clenched into fists.

Bob scowled. "You been talking back again. Missing class. How many times do I need to tell ya to bite your tongue before—"

"No!"

"—you'll hear me? If you weren't so busy floating around in that dingy termite-infested _toothpick_ that that skeleton calls a boat all weekend, we could have had this discussion sooner—"

"No, no, no!"

"That I have to deal with all this secret crap while he can parade you around like a pair of pants is beyond me. Why do you keep putting me through this? You've been kicked out of how many classes now? You've driven how many teachers to the crazy shack? _I_ can't do the math—I know you can, so you do it, and you tell me, why when I've had to bail you out of _all that_, that now you're refusing to take the classes I've been watching you excel at for years now? Just out of stinking nowhere! No consideration! No appreciation! Why is that?"

"_Shut up!_"

"No, now you watch your mouth and listen here, Bobby! My heart can't keep taking this level of stress! Are you _trying_ to kill me?"

"_No_." Abruptly small hands were thrown into wild gesticulation, green eyes blazing fiercely into his from across the coffee table. "I don't need advanced _anything_ to run the beeper store. The only reason you're pushing this is because you want another Olga. But I don't need a bunch of trophies with my name engraved on them to prove to myself that I'm smart. I don't need to break records to remind myself that I'm worth something. I don't need anyone to approve of me other than myself. I'm completely self-sufficient—I don't need anything or anybody, you got that, Grandpa? I'm fine _just the way I am_. So stop _pushing it_." With that, he ground his teeth and launched himself away, deciding then and there that this had gone on long enough. Without allowing Bob any time to prepare a retort other than, "Hey, hey, hey," he stormed out of the room.

End of discussion.

Once out in the hall, something gold, black and blue flashed out of the corner of his eye and he jumped. Zack chuckled faintly at the reaction, leaning against the wall by the doorway he'd just walked out of with a smirk and half his eyebrow knowingly raised. Phil frowned at him and tried to ignore the sense of doom rising in his chest.

Zack's smirk only strengthened at his staring. "How's that training coming, Philly?" Not waiting for a reply, he winked. "I've been keeping the hall clear for ya. Blackmail's no good if everyone finds out about it on their own, you know." His voice coated the words like melted chocolate. "It's a good thing your voice doesn't carry."

Phil let out a yelp of rage and ran up the stairs.

By the time he was at the top, it felt like the world was spinning. Gertie made a blurry appearance at some point during the spinning, and he stared strangely at her as she laughed and patted him on the head. "Well, if it isn't Lieutenant-Major Phillip the second! Fancy running into you around these parts. Ohhh, you'd best be careful, you're not looking too hot. The enemy could come at you from any side, and they've been known to strike when you're at your weakest, the lily-livered scoundrels!" She swung her fist. "You have to stay in tiptop shape if you want to make it out alive!" She waved her finger admonishingly at him.

Phil stumbled away from her as fast as he could go and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut a second after. The lock snapped a loud click in Gertie's direction, and she cackled with delight.

"Oh, just like the first one!"

* * *

><p>"Wake up."<p>

Josh mumbled, "Owls," and rolled over. On the fuzzy edge of consciousness, he felt someone push at his back, stuffing his face up against the back of the couch. He hummed his annoyance.

"Wake up."

Something whapped him on top of the head. After a bleary moment of confusion, he registered it as a pillow – or several pillows – and relaxed again.

"For the last time, wake the _heck_ up! Up, up, up! Get _up!_"

Josh was just about to throw his arm back to hopefully whack the intruder on top of the head, when he felt his equilibrium shift. Everything was suddenly flipped upside down, and his face smashed unceremoniously into what _was_ the back of the couch, along with the rest of his body. A loud burst of, "And french-fried onion rings," and furious guitar strumming came from somewhere, and he was just jolting up on his arms with a yelp of, "What the—" when it happened again, and he was suddenly flat on his back, staring shocked at the clouds floating by through the skylight. The music stopped with a snap of static.

"Good, you're up." He snapped his head over at the voice and gaped as Phil tossed the remote onto the mattress in the middle of the room without looking. His light green eyes focused blandly on him, dressed in an oversized green t-shirt and white basketball shorts. Josh blinked slowly at him, and had only a moment to process that he wasn't going to be getting anymore sleep when a pillow suddenly slapped him in the face. Again.

"Oh no, no closing your eyes! Do you know how long it took me to get you up the first time? Like trying to push a beached whale back into the ocean." He heard a huff from the other side of the pillow, a little muffled. "Sleeping the whole day away. Lazy freak."

Ignoring that, Josh spoke through the pillow, "What do you want?"

The pillow was tossed back with the remote. Josh had about two seconds to be relieved before wild-eyed eight-year-old was suddenly shoved at him. Blue met green head on as Phil babbled away, "I have a very important project that I need your help on. It's life or death, good vs. evil—kind of a big deal. So sorry I had to interrupt your nap, Rip Van Winkle, but there's work to be done and it can't wait any longer."

Josh sighed and pushed him back so he could snatch his blanket up from where it had been discarded on the floor. "Phil, it's too early for crazy. Go back to bed."

"It's four in the afternoon."

Josh paused in the middle of bundling himself up again. Glancing back at him, he uttered a faint, "Really?"

Phil looked vastly unimpressed. "Yeah. You maniac."

Josh fell back on the couch with a harsh whoosh of breath. "I've… literally been sleeping…"

"The whole day. Yeah. " He heard scuffling from beside him, pillows and blankets being shifted around, but didn't bother to look. There was a grumbling from across the room, "If you had just listened the first time…"

Josh interrupted him before he could fly off into a tirade, "Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

His voice raised an octave, "I just d—"

"Before?"

He saw Phil's arms get thrown up in his peripheral. "I don't know! Mom wouldn't let us. Kept saying you'd had a long week and needed your rest." A scoff and the sound of a door slamming. "Like that excuses anything—I've had plenty of long weeks before but I'm still up at six every morning. Not to mention sleeping on a rock and fishing all weekend, and still, six AM, on the dot. I repeat: Lazy. Freak."

Josh massaged his forehead. "There was a life or death situation?"

"Oh yeah." The bounce of springs giving way told him Phil had just thrown himself down onto the mattress. "I need to get a wife."

There was a long pause.

Then Josh looked at him. "What?"

"Or, not really a wife, I guess. More like… a kind of fiancé, a betrothed, like back in the olden days. You know, to satisfy the family curse so I don't get stuck with Mercy for the rest of my life."

Josh stared at him for another long second, before turning over on his side and throwing the covers up over himself. "It's too early for this."

"Four PM—"

"Too early."

There was a huff of breath and prodding at his back with something sharp. "You're the one who said I should get a girlfriend!"

Josh sprang up, blanket gathering about his waist as he yelled, "I told you to loosen up and have fun! To get a crush and hold hands while you share chocolate milk and graham crackers, not go down on bended knee to the first girl that catches your eye! You are _eight-years-old_, for Pete's sake, and you woke me up for this? Why does everything always have to be a big deal with you? Next thing you're gonna be waking me up at three AM telling me you're moving to Africa because you've suddenly realized your life's calling is to herd elephants!"

"Well, it's not like I have a choice," Phil yelled back with a scowl, caught up in the uproar. "Do you think I like this? I'm nowhere near ready to start thinking about marriage, but it's either that or sit around waiting for doomsday! The family curse—"

"Isn't real," Josh intoned, looking him dead in the eye with a 'this is the most obvious thing in the world' eye-widening and mouth quirk combo. At the surprised look on Phil's face, he sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. "You think I didn't hear about it when I was your age? Grandpa Phil thinks it's a good bedtime story, I don't know why. But that's not the point here." Dropping his hand, he inhaled and, looking purposefully into Phil's eyes, slowly stated, "I'm almost twelve, Phil, and Zack is fourteen. Neither one of us met our brides-to-be at nine. You're being paranoid. _Again_. And I think it's high time you started to grow up and put behind all this—"

"Were either one of you bullied by a psycho girl when you were nine?" Phil sharply interrupted, an eyebrow cocked, and Josh opened his mouth to cut him down dry when Phil interrupted again, "_No_, you weren't. Who's to say the curse doesn't just pick one victim out of each generation? Who's to say that that victim isn't me?"

"You think you're special," Josh deadpanned with an exasperated crossing of his arms.

Phil tilted his head at him sarcastically. "Are you saying I couldn't be?"

"Oh, you're special, all right."

"You'd better not have just implied what I think you implied."

"Who, me? Oh, no, never. That's not me. You've got the wrong guy. I would never even think to imply that—"

His grouchy, you-just-woke-me-up-for-baloney speech was interrupted by Phil launching himself at him, throwing him back against the couch. A wrestling match of sorts broke out, with Phil pushing at his head and Josh trying to dislodge him while simultaneously twisting his body around. It was a very awkward tussle that went on for all of twenty seconds, when a voice broke them apart with a single cough.

Phil sprang off the couch with a deft, "Erk," landing on his back on top of the mattress, legs half-hanging from the couch. Josh just snapped his head over to yell in surprise, "Kori!"

Kori had her head tilted at them in bemusement not ten feet away. "Gentlemen…"

Phil scrambled away from the couch and sat up at breakneck speed, balking at her. "Asian out of nowhere! Criminy, are you falling from the sky now?" He looked up in terror.

Kori smiled at him, though her tone was a touch sarcastic, "Actually I used the door."

"Oh."

"Mmm," she hummed. Her bemused eyes zeroed in on Josh's bad case of bed head then, hair falling and jutting out all over the place, and a snort huffed out her nose. "Oh, man, you look beautiful. How long were you guys going at it? _Why_ were you going at it? I thought you had a 'no squashing defenseless pipsqueaks' policy."

Phil seemed caught between glaring at Kori for the quip and shooting his eyebrows up at Josh for having a policy like that that he apparently thought applied to him. Josh just rolled his eyes up and swung his legs over the couch to rest barefoot on the floor. He blew a tuft of hair out of his face, only to have it flop back down and whap him in the nose. He grunted. "I woke up to Phil announcing he was getting married. That's all I know. I tell him he's crazy, next thing I know he's strangling me. Typical Monday."

" Wait, 'woke up'? As in, just now?"

Josh's eyes narrowed on her. "Really? That's what you got out of that?"

"It was the most surprising thing in that sentence." She raised an eyebrow at him, ignoring the way Phil harrumphed and bounced his way to the other end of the mattress. "I mean, I knew you were a sack rat, but…"

Josh huffed and put his hands up. "Hey, you try having football and soccer both practice on the same day then being forced to carry at least fifty pounds worth of your aunt's stuff up two flights of stairs, and not sleeping _at least_ fifteen hours afterwards, then come talk to me, all right? Don't start with me on this."

Kori placed her hands on her hips defensively. "And you try studying engineering physics while you rewire your brother's gameboy for the fifth time in a week, your other brother does back flips with sharp pointy things over your head, and your dad decides to watch a five hour long back-to-back Gorilla-Ape Island marathon on full volume, with _surround sound!_"

Josh huffed and ran a hand down his face. "Okay, I can't believe I'm saying this, but can we please just focus on Phil?"

"Focus on Phil for what?" a symphonic voice came from the doorway, just before Helga stepped into the room. Just from the look of her, Josh was able to surmise she'd gotten back from work not too long ago. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, bangs combed to the side, makeup washed, and her work clothes traded out for a heavy but ridiculously soft pink dress that Josh was very well acquainted with. Just the sight of it had him resisting the urge to stand up and give her a hug.

One eye on Kori, Josh cleared his throat. Helga raised a sharp eyebrow and he snapped his eyes back on her. "Grandpa Phil told him about the family curse."

"Oh? Which one?" she mused, with an ironic tint. She flicked her eyes to Phil, then down to Kori at her side, amusement glittering in her eyes. Kori flushed slightly under the warm scrutiny and folded her hands behind her back, her posture ramrod straight.

Phil, who'd been sitting frozen on the edge of the mattress with his back to the door, bounced suddenly around at the question and burst out, "The one about how age eleven is actually age seventy-five!"

Josh shot a sharp glare at him. Phil wasn't look at him to properly appreciate it, though, much to his chagrin. Helga just snorted and darted a glance between the two. "I take it you woke him?"

"He was snoring obnoxiously. Someone had to take the plunge."

"That was very dangerous, Phil…" Helga looked at him from under her eyebrows, looking distinctly displeased. There was an underlying playfulness there that let them both know she wasn't seriously angry, however, and she further proved this when she coughed, poorly concealing a chuckle, and muttered dryly to the quiet room, "You could have been incapacitated."

Phil blinked at her, then blinked at Josh. "What's that mean?"

Josh met his eyes directly, glare only marginally diminished. "It means I might have punched you."

A look of understanding slid over Phil's face. Josh's tendency to disable anyone who startled him was well known. Even Zack avoided sneaking up on him, lest he end up in a stranglehold and choking to get an apology out of his mouth. Needless to say, it was a gut instinct Josh wasn't exactly inclined to curb.

Despite this, Phil just scoffed in his face. "Oh, _whatever_. You don't scare me."

Josh had to resist the urge to shove him into the mattress and hold him down until he screamed uncle for that. The sound of his mom giggling stopped him and they both turned to look at her funny. Kori had to bite her lip to keep from giggling herself at the randomness of it. The sight of the normally forbidding woman openly giggling like a child was enough to make anyone falter. For the Shortman boys, it was enough to make all coherent thought burst into flames.

Very carefully, Josh began, "You seem to be in a good mood."

Before the final word had even left Josh's mouth, Phil asked, "Have you lost your marbles?"

Her giggling tapered off into two consecutive titters, before she fell into silence and waved a hand at them. "Pfft, _no_. Arnold and I just had a late lunch with an old friend after his meeting is all. Had a nice stroll down memory lane. So, yeah, I'd say I'm in a pretty good mood." She quirked a knowing eyebrow at Phil. "But we can talk about all that over dinner. Right now, you, mister, are avoiding my question."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

Helga snorted. "Are we really doing this?"

Josh cut in before anything stupid could happen, "It's the one about how we get mauled at nine, or something." A moment passed. He rolled his eyes minutely. "Whatever."

Phil glared at him for his flippancy, while Helga's mouth turned down in a frown. She seemed to want to say something, but appeared unsure, mouth hanging suspended on the ghost of a thought.

Phil finally had had enough of sitting in an awkward silence (after three seconds) and, noticing her expression, huffily crossed his arms. He spoke resentfully, defiantly, as if the fault lay entirely on her shoulders, "He said I'm doomed to marry this evil girl at my school who's been bullying me forever and I don't want to so I'm finding a way around it. That's all. I don't want to talk about it."

Helga's face shifted into one of dull horror.

Phil was very nearly glaring. "You were the one who bullied Dad, weren't you? Dad told me about you. He said you were really obnoxious and he threw you in a pool for it and called you a fool." At her blank expression, with his frown deepening, he grudgingly pressed on, "I put two and two together. The curse got you. It's true."

Helga stared at him for another long moment, before she pivoted suddenly around and screamed down the stairs, "_Football – head! Try to hide, and I'll only kick your ass harder!_" The door slammed after her. Footsteps were heard stomping down the stairs.

The boys both gawked at the door. Kori pursed her lips and folded her hands behind her back.

Then Josh muttered, "This explains almost too much."

Kori spoke up from across the room, "I can't believe you guys didn't know. Dad still complains about her all the time. I mean, Mother said not to say anything to you guys but I thought it was too obvious not to see."

"Maybe we didn't want to see," Phil shot back suspiciously, twitching and squinting at her like she was an enemy spy. "Maybe we didn't want to be privy to the fact we come from a long line of _madness_." His mouth snapped over the last word, his hands fisting at his sides.

Josh snorted almost violently, then had to cough and cover his nose when he felt something splatter. He covered it up with a quick swipe of his sleeve and a speedy retort sure to avert attention, "Oh, come on, Phil, Mom and Dad turned out really happy together. Would it really be so bad if you ended up married to that cute little girl?"

"Cute?!" the exclamation reverberated off the walls, and the sound of a bird could be heard squawking its alarm in the distance. Phil's face was flushed with outrage. "What is it with older kids and constantly calling everyone younger than them cute? Is it just to be polite? Is it 'cause they're smaller than you? Because trust me, from where I'm standing, Mercy Laporte is anything but _cute_." Josh blinked slowly, solemnly at him, and Phil scowled. "I once heard her having an in depth whine session with some other girls about why eleventy should be a number."

Josh sighed. "All right, fine, whatever. Mercy's a big no-no. What do you want me to do about it?"

Phil stood and marched over to him awkwardly yet still with an annoyingly high measure of dignity, his footsteps sinking and bouncing with each step on the mattress, until he was before him and a book was suddenly slammed onto his lap. Josh reeled at the sudden intrusion, but then his eyes alighted on the title and his eyelids fell. "The Yearbook?"

Phil nodded, apparently decided on the matter, and pulled up a few pillows to perch himself on top of. The mattress was large enough that it brought him head-to-chest with Josh, and he used this height to easily flip the book open to the first page. "Of course. We've only got a few weeks before my birthday and I need the perfect wife picked out before then so I can glue myself to her side. We should get started immediately."

Kori spoke up again, this time from right beside the couch, and Phil jerked away in shock at her sudden proximity. "Wait a minute, Phil's really getting married?"

Josh looked at her, his exasperation shining in his eyes. "Engaged. Apparently."

Kori's mouth quirked to one side, bemused. "But, he's like two."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Phil snapped, more startled than angry at the moment. "I'm practically nine."

She huffed out a silent laugh. "Eeeyeah." She leaned precariously over the couch from the side to pluck at a few stray pieces of unruly brown hair, which Phil batted away, just before she finally went flopping down onto the couch, head cushioning comfortably on her arms in Josh's lap over the book. She batted her eyes at him over her glasses. "I don't think your body got the memo on that. Or your cognitive development. Or emotional development. Or any development, really."

"I'm laughing," Phil deadpanned.

Josh hummed and edged the book out from underneath Kori's head with a few careful pokes and pulls, then sat it on top of her. He talked over Kori's whines of protest, "You really want us to go through your entire yearbook just to find you a soul mate?"

"Well, it's not like she's just gonna show up on my doorstep," Phil huffed impatiently, more than done with arguing on the subject.

"Uh huh," Josh muttered, listening through one ear as he flipped idly through the pages, "isn't that exactly what she's supposed to do, though? Isn't that how soul mates work? They just happen?"

"I'm not interested in letting a mindless chance of fate run my life." His eyes were hard as he stared down at the book. "I don't trust it."

Josh opened his mouth, no doubt with another rejoinder that would fall on willfully deaf ears, but Kori popping a hand up and snatching the book out of his hands stilled his mouth. Exhaling with a puff out her nose, she propped the book up on the end of the couch, supported by her hands on the sides, and said, "Ham, seriously, can't you see this is exactly what you've been wanting? Phil wants to get a _girlfriend_, hello? Nobody says we have to actually find him a soul mate to spend the rest of eternity with – I mean, geez, he's still practically a baby – all we have to do is pick someone cute and suitable for him to date and discard over the next few weeks. This could be his first _crush_. We can't toss this opportunity out the window! Think of all the adorable things we can get them to do!" Craning her head back, her teeth were visibly clenched and eyes impossibly wide. "Imagine Phil in a bow tie. Oh my gosh, and spaghetti. He could give her the last _meatball_. It'd be so cute—and you could play the accordion! Granted, you'd have to grow a mustache, but—"

"Kori," Josh laughed. "They're not dogs."

"Why you gotta be so literal?"

Phil casually popped in, "You realize you're forming your evil schemes right in front of me?"

Kori tossed a careless peripheral glance at him. "Yeah, but you're too paranoid you're gonna get stuck with Mercy to care about our motivations for helping you."

Phil mulled that over a couple of seconds, lips pursed upwards. "True. But no bow ties. They're dorky."

"Your face is dorky."

"_Your face_ is dorky!"

"Now children, settle down," Josh softly commanded them, giving them both a firm pat on the head, earning him both a cheeky smirk and a glare. "We have a lot of work ahead of us if we want to find someone before November."

Phil frowned at the assessment. "It's just a girl. It shouldn't take us more than a week."

"With how picky you are?" Josh's voice and eyebrows conveyed his incredulity. "You kidding? It could easily take decades."

Phil's frown dug deeper into his face.

Josh cocked an eyebrow. "You know your face'll get stuck that way."

"It hasn't already?" Kori muttered, flipping back to the first page of the book. "C'mon, let's get this show on the road. There's around five-hundred students at PS 118, I'd say about forty-three percent of which are girls. That brings us down to 215 chicas…" She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "That is, unless we should be excluding boys in that estimate… or excluding girls…"

Phil's eyebrows dropped. "Are you asking me if I'm gay?"

"Yeah. Didn't think I was subtle enough you'd need clarification, but yes."

Phil's eyes squinted.

Josh eyed him curiously. "Well, are you?"

Phil blinked at that, and opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, and closed it.

Finally, he replied, "No? I've never been attracted to one. But then, I've never been very attracted to any girls, either. I'm usually too preoccupied with being disturbed at how mindless people are to worry about what they look like."

Kori stared at him a long wide-eyed moment, before turning her head to whisper at Josh, "Maybe he's asexual, like a plant. It would explain the green."

"No way," Josh whispered back with his head ducked low, watching Phil none-too-subtly over the back of her head. Phil blinked back at him, perturbed and a little offended—though he always looked a little offended, so Josh wasn't concerned. "He's a Shortman, and my brother. There's simply no way. There's gotta be another reason he's so weird." Raising both his head and his tone, he asked point-blank, "Which would you rather make out with—Olivia Wilde or Chris Pine?"

Phil's nose scrunched up unattractively. "Ewww, I don't want to touch either of them, let alone _kiss_ them!"

Josh's expression was almost more violent a reaction than if he'd thrown himself off the couch and gone into spasms. "_Holy crap_, he's a plant!"

"Now hold on," Kori propped herself up further on her elbows, "lets not break out the fertilizer just yet. He _is_ still a two-year-old."

"No excuse!"

"Would you just—" came screeching suddenly out of Phil's mouth, until he gained something of a handle on his annoyance and shifted it towards something more productive than imploding. Like yelling. "Exclude the guys and get on with it! I'm pretty sure if I was gay I'd have noticed it by now, so let's just move on!"

"Okay," Kori exhaled warily, licking the tip of her finger to give the book page a flick. "Let's try to narrow it down some more. Hair color, eye color, race? Any preferences?"

"No blondes," he snipped instantly, brooking any argument. Kori smirked and nodded. Josh just sighed, as if all hope in humanity had been lost.

The door was suddenly yanked open unceremoniously, and a harried, wild-faced Helga Shortman stood spread-legged in the doorway. Her messy ponytail now looked as if a bird had taken residence in it, hair springing up seemingly at random and giving her the look of a deranged asylum escapee.

Kori leapt out of Josh's lap like it was on fire, and was sitting politely, hands folded tensely in her lap on the other end of the couch before Josh could even process she'd moved. Her face flushed dark, she began quietly, "Mrs. Shortman, I—"

"Where's Arnold?" Helga spoke right over her as if she hadn't been speaking in the first place, looking like she couldn't possibly care less where her best friend's daughter's head was.

Josh frowned. "How—"

"Don't play innocent with me, you traitorous thumb-sucking papa's boy," the words cracked from her lips like lightning, while her eyes flashed varying shades of dangerous blue. Everyone tensed. "I know you know all your father's favorite hiding spots, and I won't have it! If he thinks he can get away from me, he is sorely mistaken!"

And just like that, she was across the room like a demon. She stood just on the edge of the couch, legs set and hands on her hips in her signature war stance, eyes blazing and mouth in a humorless line. She was evidently out for blood, so it was no wonder their father ran. Mom was scary like this, and it was usually best to bunker down and wait until the storm passed before discussing whatever she'd gone off the deep end about.

Which was why Kori scooted closer to Josh, Phil fisted a blanket closer to himself in case he'd need to hide, and Josh just stared. "Mom, I really don't kn—"

"The hell you don't!"

Phil opened his mouth, a little, which was just enough to be too much, "Dad says you shouldn't cur—"

"Well, your father's not here, is he?" she spat out in a near-snarl.

Phil threw the blanket up over himself and bunkered down beside a pillow.

Helga predictably wilted at the sight. With a defeated sigh, she ran her hand down the length of her forehead before resting it over her eyes. Resigned to stillness, she asked, "Does anyone in this room have any clue where Mr. Shortman is?"

Josh started to shake his head, but when Kori said, "No, ma'am," he realized Mom couldn't see him and quickly followed her statement with a mirrored, "No, Mom." After a moment, he added, "Honestly."

The pink blop of blanket just snorted, having wedged its way under the pillow by now. His voice was expectedly muffled, "Do I look like I know crap?"

Helga's hand fell to reveal a dry look. "Well, you usually claim to."

The blop bristled.

With a shake of her head, Helga waved her arm and marched out the door before anything more could be said on the matter.

Exactly five awkwardly silent seconds later, the skylight hatch clicked open, and Mr. Shortman came climbing in.

A warm smile was flashed at all in the room as he reached the bottom of the ladder and bounced heavily on the bed. "Hey, kids. Wha'chu up to?"

Before Josh could respond with exactly what they were currently up to, Phil tossed the blanket off himself and stated in a hush, "Mom's looking for you."

Arnold's smile didn't even twitch. "Yes."

"She looked like she wanted to break your neck."

"Yes."

Josh tilted his head at him. "You're hiding."

"Yes."

Well, that was that then.

"So, you guys going to tell me what you're up to, or should I guess?" Arnold's eyes drifted warmly over them, taking everything in from Kori's prim posture, Josh's bedraggled state, Phil's clutch on the blanket, and the book currently lying in the middle of the couch. His own hair was combed to the side, body clad in an aquamarine t-shirt and white wash jeans. He looked relaxed, sitting there, and was a welcome sight after the tsunami that was their mother, so the kids all let out a collective breath.

That was immediately sucked back in when Phil yelled, "Why didn't you tell me Mom was the girl who bullied you?"

The smile and happy half-lidded eyes were replaced with surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You said you thought Mercy had a crush on me, not that she was in love with me and we were destined to be together!"

By the end of Phil's accusation, Arnold's face had finished its slow descent into blankness. Not comfortably blank like it usually was, or bored, or lost in thought. Just completely, unnaturally blank. He sat still as a statue, legs folded Indian-style and hands on his knees.

Until finally, he blinked, long and slow. When his voice came, it was as a low deadpan, "Grandpa told you."

And just like that, Dad looked mad, which meant his eyes were narrowed, his jaw was working, and his mouth was tight. For someone well-known as the textbook definition of Mr. Nice Guy, some might think this would be deeply unsettling, yet even angry, he somehow managed to look about as threatening as a spoon. Probably because even at his most furious, the worst possible outcome was always a very stern lecture and maybe a month's grounding, tops, and after growing up with a mom who could make you pee your pants with just one look and a temper that had been known to come up with some _very_ creative punishments when so much as breathed on incorrectly, seeing the slow, pissy undulation of their father's breath was pretty much the equivalent of a baby lamb on the hunt for butterflies.

Which was half of why Phil had no trouble continuing on his tirade despite his dad's mood. The other half was that he was, well, Phil. "Yeah, Grandpa warned me, unlike _you_." His breathing patterns matched his father's, and his face was one of betrayal. "How could you throw me to the sharks like that? Why didn't you tell me it was a curse?"

Arnold sighed harshly and raked a hand through his hair. "It's not really a curse, Phil, it's just a coincidence. I never really thought you and Mercy would—I mean, of course I suspected, the circumstances are too perfect not to. But you know I don't believe in curses. Grandpa's just weird like that. You shouldn't take everything he says so seriously."

"Oh no," Phil sat back and crossed his arms, "you can't trick me. It happened to Grandma Gertie and Grandpa Phil, it happened to you and Mom, and now it's happening to me. You can't sit there and tell me I'm just imagining things."

Arnold mirrored his body language with a lifted eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe Mercy liked you."

"That was before I had irrefutable evidence shoved in my face."

Arnold's voice dipped sarcastically low, "In the form of a curse?"

Phil's stubbornness didn't falter. "Yes." Arnold opened his mouth to reply, words riding on the wave of a sigh, but Phil interrupted him, "And I'm not having it. I don't like Mercy and I don't want to marry Mercy so I'm not gonna. I'm finding a different girl and getting married to her and that's final." He lifted his chin stubbornly.

Arnold just stared at him. Then stood. "Okay."

"Okay?" Phil watched with some measure of trepidation as his father walked to the door. "That's it? No apology?"

Arnold turned his head to him, hand on the doorknob, and shook his head. "The only apology owed in this room is from you, for raising your voice to me and making baseless accusations." All the air seemed to get sucked out of the room, and Phil could only gape. Arnold met his eyes. "I'm letting you off the hook only because I understand how distraught you must be. I won't tolerate that manner of disrespect again. Am I clear?"

Phil's eyes flickered. He swallowed and looked down. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You kids have fun." After a moment of hovering in the doorway, he smiled, faintly. "You know I only ever want you to be happy. But, just…" he hesitated, hand twisting on the knob, before he came to a decision and finished, "don't fight how you feel, if you do happen to… Just trust me." He pointed at Josh with a firm look then. "And you, keep things from getting out of hand. I don't want to hear anything being broken up here." Josh blinked, only mildly surprised at the address, before nodding his head. Arnold's face smoothed.

With that, he exited the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Kori burst, "Oooooh, _Philly_ got in _trouble_—"

Phil chucked the pillow at her.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you told him."<p>

Grandpa jerked up, his head clunking against the shelf. Laundry detergent bounced over and fell, white flakes exploding out like a gust of winter over their heads. Grandpa coughed and cursed and turned his head, white as a ghost, to blindly face the stairway. "Wha?"

Arnold's stiff expression made no change. Silently, he walked over and sat the box back up correctly. "You told Phil about the curse."

Grandpa wiped his face with a rag and opened his eyes wide on him, eyebrows flying. "I told myself what?"

Arnold's face tightened further. He stood straight-backed by the washing machine, and crossed his arms at his grandfather's expression. "My _son_."

"Oh-oh, ah…" Grandpa blinked a few times, still seeming a bit disoriented, though his eyes were bright and clear. Glancing down at the rag, he folded it neatly and laid it down, still fiddling with it absently, just for something to do. His movements seemed a little dodgy. "You did say I tell them all at one point or another, didn't you?"

"It was different with Zack and Josh. They've never been bullied." Arnold eyed him, a muscle in his jaw shifting every so often. "Plus, I know it's only supposed to affect every other generation—"

"It is?" Grandpa's eyes went saucer-wide, before crinkling on a shocked burst of merry laughter. "Well, that explains why it didn't affect Miles!"

Arnold's eyes softened around the edges. A hint of melancholy colored his voice as he agreed, "Yes, Grandpa. That's why." He shook his head and sighed, uncrossing his arms to rest one hand on the machine beside them and take a step forward. "But that's not the point. Whatever happened to all that stuff you used to tell me? About just letting things evolve naturally, without interference? To let what's meant to be, be?" He raked a hand through his hair and glanced away, deftly shaking his head. "I don't actually believe in the curse, but I do believe at least one of those girls like him, and it's unfair. You've got him on some epic crusade to find someone to replace Mercy with now, and you know how he gets."

Grandpa made a strange sound, some cross between a snort, huff and a laugh, and turned to fold the last few shirts he'd had laid out and place them in the basket. "Oh yeah, I know, always making a mountain out of a mole hill. Kinda like you're doing right now…" He tossed him a tinkling look, his smile light and teasing. "There's nothing to worry about, I just wanted to give him something to look forward to!" He looked back down at his work, a little too casually. "I'll admit, I wasn't expecting him to freak out like he did, but I see no harm in it now. If the thought of marryin' that little girl terrifies him so much, why not let him experiment?"

"Because once Phil has an idea in his head, he won't let it go. I was trying to get him to open up his mind to the _thought_, and I think it was even working, but now thanks to you he's fleeing in the other direction. It's hopeless."

Grandpa snorted, not even sparing him a glance this time. "Last I heard you got him convinced that he hates girls."

Arnold's eyes narrowed. "Not seriously. Phil could never really hate girls. Not with Helga, Mom, Grandma, Suzie, Lola, or Miriam around." One by one, a finger popped out along his arm. "Not to mention Olga now."

"Heh." Grandpa turned, the basket under his arm and a smile on his face. "I hate to say this of my own protégé, but he's never been a very logical creature." He chortled. At Arnold's dry look, he quieted. "Oh, come now, Arnold, if this Mercy character is anything like Helga or Pookie, she won't take this lying down. It's not the end of the world. I don't know about you, but I went through a lot of girls before I realized Pookie was the one for me. You should be happy he's finally taking an interest."

"Won't take this lying down…" Arnold chuckled breathily, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Grandpa grinned. "It'll be a hoot. Our kitchen table'll be smashed and air vents dented up before you know it." He walked over to the stairs. "Nothing can get in the way of true love!"

Arnold sighed and turned to follow. His arms uncrossed. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I am, I'm me! Now onto some more pressing topics," he spun around on the third step, throwing a hand down to gesture grandly at his feet, "what do ya think of my new boots?"

Arnold stared down at the worn leather boots, stained a dark repugnant brown in some places and mossy green in others. He blinked slowly. "They, uh… They look…" he met his eyes with fond resignation, "great, Grandpa."

"Considering they'd been drifting at the bottom of a lake not two days ago? You bet they do!" He laughed in that lively way that always had Arnold suppressing the need to run a hand over his eyes and walked up the remainder of the stairs. Arnold followed. "So how did your day go? I heard Helga saying something about some friends moving back to Hillwood recently?"

Arnold was just opening his mouth to respond as he closed the door to the basement, his eyes brightening at the change of topic, when a hand shot out suddenly and he found himself stumbling sideways from a sharp pull. Next thing he knew he was eye-to-eye with his very angry wife, her eyebrows nearly covering the entirety of her baby blues and her breath huffing and mingling with his own. Arnold's spine went painfully straight.

"Here's Helga," she hissed.

Arnold did an impressive imitation of a fish.

He was suddenly pushed down on his knees and shaken. "I'm really obnoxious, huh? Of the two of us, you still think I'm the fool? Fool enough that I'd never find out that you broke your promise?" His brain rattled in his skull. "You told _him_, you told my baby! You know how he _is!_ None of 'em will ever be able to look at me the same way again now, and it's _all thanks to you and your big football-headed mouth!_"

"Um."

The faint sound came from someplace behind the couple, and both turned their heads to see Phil standing at the bottom of the staircase, eyes wide in shock and embarrassment.

At their direct attention, he flushed bright red and raced back up the stairs. Helga snapped her head back around, livid. "Look what you've done!"

Arnold blinked several times, rapidly, his brain still trying to catch up with his rather dire situation. "What? No—" He shook his head, a firm expression taking place as he forced himself to stand. His hands instantly came down to circle around Helga's. "No. Helga, I don't know what it is you think I told him, but the reality's not nearly as bad as you're making it out to be."

"Oh," and now she sounded sarcastic, "so you didn't tell him all about how I was a big nasty bully when we were kids and you threw me into a pool at the April Fool's dance in front of everyone we know as a punishment?"

Arnold faltered. "Uh. Okay, so it's exactly what you think." Helga tore her hands from his and turned away in disgust. He winced and caught her elbow. "Come on, Helga, he was really upset. I told him a girl used to bully me and that she liked me, so that he could understand that I knew how he felt. That's it—I couldn't have anticipated that Grandpa would tell him about the 'curse' shortly afterward." He shot a quick glare over his shoulder at Grandpa at this, who was just standing with a sunshiny grin on the sidelines. When his eyes met Helga's again, they softened at what he found there. "I never meant to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. You must know that."

He watched as the steel in her eyes slowly drained, begrudgingly. Her hands relaxed in his. "Yeah, I know." She tried to rebuild her wall of righteous fury. "But—"

He maintained eye contact, light jellybean-green pools wide and perfectly attentive.

The wall crumbled to dust and was swept away by the wind. She wilted with a huff. Abruptly, she looked away, unable to hold his starlit supermodel eyes any longer. "Ah, damn it, Arnold, you can't let me stay angry for five measly seconds? He got all indignant with me about it, like I'd betrayed him somehow. It nearly broke my heart."

"Was he disrespectful?" He massaged her fingers between his own.

She pursed her lips, already knowing where he was going with this and unsure how she felt about it. "Maybe."

He kissed her fingers. "He yelled at me earlier, too. We should ground him for a day or two, take away some privileges, teach him better respect…"

Helga's fingers twitched. She avoided his eyes. "Maybe."

Arnold sighed. "Or we could just buy extra peas."

The next instant, Helga's eyes were focused solely on his, accompanied by a coy smile. "I'll add it to the grocery list."

Arnold rolled his eyes and slid an arm around her waist. "Is it any wonder he's so spoiled?"

"Pft, like I can help it." She rolled her eyes. "He's so adorable; all short and stubby, always thinking he's right, and those eyes—_Ugh_. Is it any wonder, indeed. As usual, this is all your fault."

"Of course it is."

"Of course." She pressed her lips to his. He pretended to put up resistance for a couple seconds before giving in, tugging her closer so he could deepen the kiss. Grandpa wolf-whistled.

"Guh—"

The awkward noise pulled the two apart, and they turned just in time to see Josh's eye and mouth twitch simultaneously. He belted out an almost panicked, "Sorry," before racing back up the stairs. Grandpa burst into laughter behind them, as Arnold and Helga just stood in bemusement.

Finally, Arnold commented, "I don't always think I'm right."

Helga pushed away from him with a scoff. "Oh, please! Don't even try. You both have that same look of long-suffered constipation in your eyes. Don't you stand there and act like you're not always thinking you're smarter than everybody else. I _know_ you."

Arnold stared at her for a long moment, one eyebrow slowly suspending itself on his forehead, before he finally broke down and just rolled his eyes.

Helga pointed a finger at him. "Eh, eh! That's exactly what I'm talking about! That damn look. I mean, criminy, Arnold, one girl builds a shrine to you and suddenly you think you're some kind of god. Honestly—" She shook her head. "Ha, what am I saying? You had that look long before you knew anything about my love for you. It's just who you are."

Grandpa cackled his delight, walking around them to bring himself back into the conversation. "Eh, heh heh heh—She's got you pegged, Arnold. It's okay," he was quick to assure at the look Arnold flicked to him, "I know how you feel. I've always had trouble coping with how much cleverer I am than regular folk, too. It gets mighty exhausting after a while."

Helga hummed. "No kidding. I don't know how I've survived as long as I have. Day in, day out—everywhere I look, nothing but chuckleheads. You can hardly breathe for it."

Arnold threw a look between the two. "Sounds to me like you're the ones with the fantasies of grandeur."

Helga's eyebrows snapped up. She leaned over to whisper conspiratorially at Grandpa, "'Fantasies of grandeur,' he says. I bet he looks these phrases up specifically to make himself feel sharp." Grandpa snickered.

Arnold threw his hands up and turned away. Both Grandpa and Helga laughed then, not unkindly. Helga reached forward to pull him back by the shoulder. "Oh, don't be like that. I love that look. I used to watch you all the time, how you'd just stand around staring at people, all bored and detached and trying to pretend like you weren't the only adult in the room. I related to you very deeply in those moments. It was one of the main reasons I fell in love with you."

"And here I was under the impression it was for my purity," he muttered. Helga smirked.

The front door clicking open and shut interrupted their back and forth, but this wasn't surprising, and not only because they'd already been interrupted twice in the last ten minutes. Interruptions were common when you were living in a house of sixteen. Giving Helga the eye, indicating they'd be discussing this at length later—to which she flicked her eyes up—they all turned.

And there Zack stood, smiling goofily at them. His hair was crazier than usual, windswept, with his shirt wrinkled and brushed back behind his arms where he stood, leaned back against the door. Eyes fluttering, the first words out of his mouth were a thick, "You guys are the best parents ever."

Arnold shared a quick glance with Helga before he met Zack's eyes again, licking his lips, eyes crinkled with suppressed amusement. He took a cautious step forward. "I take it you had fun?"

Zack burst into mad cackling, like he'd just told a hilarious joke, and pushed off the door. Arnold was startled. "You could say that." He swayed on his feet; his hands forced their way into his pockets. His eyes practically glowed beneath his eyelids. "We just had a quick walk around the neighborhood. Really, more of a sprint. It was kind of boring, actually."

Helga stepped up beside him. He could sense the suspicion rolling off of her like it was a physical thing. "Boring, eh? Your face is telling a different story—You maybe wanna revise that statement?"

Zack laughed again, quieter this time. "Different st—Oh, that's a good one, Mom. I was only gone, what, ten, twenty minutes at most? Hardly enough time to go on some life-altering adventure." His smile shone, wide and toothy. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, though." He made his way towards the staircase.

"Uh-huh…" Her shuttered face flicked opened and her shoulders eased back. She followed him with her eyes. "So what's she like with her own kind? She was awfully quiet at lunch, I couldn't get a read on her. She seemed sweet, but you can never know with those types."

_Her own kind being teenagers,_ Arnold thought. Zack looked at her, but didn't stop his slow trot, making his way up the first set of steps. "Oh, well, she's…" he giggled and slammed into the wall. Stumbling back, he rubbed his head with a quiet chuckle. "Who put that wall there? That's—I mean. Of course, she's great. Very—great. Good teeth. Uh, I'm gonna get back to you on that." He waved to them from the top of the stairs now, before disappearing from sight. The nervous, giddy energy trailed after him. A loud thump sounded shortly after his disappearance, followed by a laughing yelp, full of childlike wonder, "_So many walls!_"

"Oh," Helga muttered, "_great_."

"At least we know she comes from a good family," Arnold muttered back.

"Better than that time he and Riley dated," came her quiet agreement. "Zack Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd-Shortman. That'd have been rich."

Arnold sighed at the memory and rubbed her back when she leaned into him. "Poland will never be the same."

Grandpa's quiet chortling became noticeably loud when he walked around the two, finally deciding the last of the entertainment had trickled out of the room and he was tired of standing around with a full laundry basket. His eyes twinkled slyly when he glanced at Arnold. "And you say he's nothing like you."

Helga snorted a viscious laugh and pulled away from him. She said something about helping, and he heard her footsteps accompanying Grandpa's up the stairs, but it was all background noise to Arnold as he ran a hand down his face.

He loved his family, but sometimes they were just impossible.

* * *

><p>"Mika Dyke?"<p>

"No."

"Brett Foster?"

"No."

"Camelia Richards?"

"Double no."

"…Blythe Burterelli?"

"_Triple_ no."

Kori slammed the book down. "_Triple no_? Are you joking? We're nearly to the end of the book! You couldn't at least think for five seconds before shooting them down?"

Phil frowned like she'd just asked him to beam to the moon. "None of them like me. Blythe and Camelia especially don't. They glare at me all the time."

Kori stared at him through bland eyes, her mouth hanging slightly agape. She blinked several times. "Phil… I am sorry I have to be the one to break this to you, but _no one_ likes you. You have a number of distasteful qualities that I would go on to list, but we would be here all day and for the majority of the evening—no offense, I like teasing you, not injuring you; it is merely a statement of fact. Just _please_ tell me the entire reason you turned down all those girls wasn't just because they didn't like you." Phil just blinked at her, and her eyes slowly narrowed. She spoke very evenly, "You need to pick someone based on whether or not _you_ like _them_. We'll deal with getting them to like you back later." She exhaled shakily, forcing her hands to settle into a center-minded clasp. "Okay?"

Phil's eyes cut, looking utterly baffled for an instant. "But I don't like anyone." His nostrils flared. "And what should I care if they don't like me anyway? They're all idiots. I must be doing something very right if so many dim-witted donut brains dislike me so much. In fact, yeah, thank you for telling me that—I needed the boost." He clenched his teeth.

Kori stared at him for another long moment, before putting her face in her hands. Josh patted her on the back.

After a beat, Josh hesitantly offered, "What about Dolly?"

Phil was still laughing when the door pulled to and Zack shoved himself inside. He used his whole body to push it back closed and stood like that, hands flat on the door, back to the room. Then he twisted around and slid slowly down the door.

"Hello, my beautiful, perfect family." He kept his voice low, on the edge of a whisper; yelling being unnecessary. The grin on his face worked as a suitable exclamation point to his words, as he finally reached the floor and contentedly perched there. "You'll never believe the day I just had."

"Oh, somehow I doubt that," Josh ventured. Kori coughed.

Zack giggled. It wasn't unusual that Zack would laugh like that – annoying, demanding attention – but something about this one made some red flags snap up. Zack just shook his head and continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Do you guys remember Sophie?"

"The curvy one who's name you couldn't remember yesterday?" Phil's tone was arid.

Zack laughed again, a little uneasily this time, and swept a hand through his hair. "Um, technically. Anyway—Funny thing. Apparently Mom and Dad are acquainted with her parents. Dad more so than Mom, but Dad pretty much knows everyone within a hundred block radius, so…" He threw a friendly side-glance in Kori's direction. "They know the Sophie story, but you don't, so maybe I should start from the beginning?"

Kori smiled faintly.

Zack's smile warmed. "Okay. Well, last week there was this new girl at school, and since I'm me I naturally got assigned to show her around. It was by mere coincidence that she happened to be a total babe. _I_ thought we'd hit it off all right, and when I asked her out she said yes, but nothing happened then. I mean, I didn't make a move 'cause her dad made it pretty clear with his eyebrows that he'd behead me if I so much as shed a hair on her, but she didn't do anything, either, which was weird 'cause I could have sworn she was into me. She barely even spared me a glance the whole night, in fact. So when I dropped her back home and her mom slammed the door in my face, I wasn't too torn up about it, 'cause I figured she didn't really care that much anyway. But today!" And here, a light flamed behind his eyes. "Mom and I went to the records store while Dad was in his meeting and we ran into this chick named Bridget—"

"Mother creation," Phil groaned in heartfelt agony and dropped backwards on the bed. "I'm gonna be a hundred and five by the time you get to the point."

Zack tut-tutted. "Ah, ah, patience, virtue, words of wisdom—I was getting there. Now, as I was saying—" He tossed his head back, as if to emphasize some majesty in his facial structure, but ended up knocking his head on the back of the door. His eyes burst open in surprised pain before falling half-lidded at Josh and Kori's snickering. He smirked at them. "_As I was saying_, there was this chick there that Mom recognized and flipped her lid about, and once she told her who she was, the Bridget lady started flipping out, too, and a bunch of weird dialogue happened. I kinda zoned out for most of it, but apparently she helped Dad save the neighborhood when that Shark guy tried to tear it down for his evil shopping mall. Something about tomatoes came up, I think. I don't know, but the point is, one thing led to another, and somehow we ended up picking up Dad and heading over to her house for lunch, and it was _Sophie's house!_ She's Sophie's _mom!_ And that's not even the end of it. Her dad was there in, pfft, the exact same spot he was before, still with the weird hat over his head and looking on the verge of a psycho killing spree, but as soon as his eyes landed on Dad he suddenly got super chummy and warm and—" He snorted. "I was afraid he was one of those closet gay guys and thought Dad was cute or something, but _no_, of course he used to know Dad, too. Dad was all guilty and said he didn't recognize him, but the guy just got this creepy smile on his face and said that was just fine, and I'm getting chills just thinking about it, I'm gonna move on—"

"Finally," Phil gasped.

"Bridget Jones called Sophie down for lunch when it was ready, and she came out in this—" he coughed, trying and failing to suppress his laughter, "in this argyle thing. This is coming from the guy from Plaid-Pink Palace, I know I shouldn't talk, but criminy."

"No one cares," Phil nearly sobbed, flopping over onto his stomach.

Zack waved a hand at him. "Shh, shh, this is an important detail in the narrative. Because I burst out laughing. I mean, she was wearing an argyle sweater to school, and she wore another one on our date, but argyle footy pajamas? That's going too far."

Josh and Kori blinked at him in unison.

"Settle down, you guys, your reception is overwhelming." Zack fanned himself.

"You're making that up," Josh pointed out.

Zack suddenly threw his arms up, startling them. "I'm not! I swear. Or, okay, so maybe they weren't _footy_—" Josh fell back in his seat, exasperated. "But I couldn't see her feet at first! I thought they were, but they turned out not to be, but I'm going sequentially here, all right? I had this split-second where I caught a glimpse of her feet and realized they weren't actually footy, but I _thought_ they were, and I nearly choked on my sandwich. Dad's face went red which didn't help matters. Still, he tried to shut me up but I couldn't stop. And it was the weirdest thing, but she didn't get upset. The moment she saw me, she just stopped in the doorway, and I was laughing by then, but all of a sudden she ninja-dived across the room, grabbed me by the arm, hoisted me up against her, and told her parents she wanted me to be her boyfriend. So, I guess, long story short..."

"We are way past that point," Phil mumbled miserably into the mattress.

A large, goofy smile spread across Zack's face. "We're dating now, per specific demand. Go figure."

Kori smiled widely. "That's actually kinda roman—"

Phil suddenly shot off the bed like a bullet, his hair in wild disarray and pupils like pinpricks. "This is not news! This is not special! Girls throw themselves at you on a regular basis for some sick reason—"

"My cutting charm and roguish good looks," Zack mused, as if commenting on the weather.

Phil gagged and enthusiastically ignored him. "This does not deserve a forty-five hour oral presentation! I have facial hair on my _facial hair_ now because of you! And we were _kind of_ in the middle of something important—"

"Facial hair on your facial hair, huh?" Zack scrubbed a hand along his chin and the base of his jaw, a mischievous smirk whispering at the corner of his lips. "But from where I'm standing, you don't look anything like Dumbledore. Maybe if I get up closer…" He leaped across the room and pinned him down. Phil stared up at him in shock as Zack tilted his head in an exaggerated attempt to find hair on his face, eyes squinted, lips pursed and all. Suddenly, he gasped and drew back. "No! There's no facial hair in sight! Not a single follicle! But that, that can only mean…" He gulped, trembling. "You—You _lied_ to me!"

"No," Phil tried to stop the inevitable, but it was too late. Hands came down on him and started furiously tickling, running up and down his sides before inevitably landing under his armpits. Phil squealed, kicked, tried to gain purchase with his elbows so he could scrabble away, but it was no use. Eventually he gave up and laughed, "Stop it, stop it, I give!"

Zack did not relent. "What's the magic word? Say it! Say it!"

"Abra–Abracada… cadabrahahaha…"

Zack threw himself back on his heels. "That is _not_ the magic word."

Several strong chuckles fell out of Phil as he propped himself up, a beaming smile on his face. "Hocus pocus?"

"No."

"Alakazam? Presto-get-off-of-me-o? Ting tang walla walla bing bang?"

Zack shook his head. "You disappoint me, grasshopper."

Phil's smile only bloomed. "Thank you."

Josh looked between the two, his eyes wide. Something determined entered them suddenly, and he stood, rolling up his sleeves. "All right, that's it. I've been wanting to do this ever since I woke up."

He slammed his body down on Phil's and forced his head down into the mattress, locking his arms behind his back. "Call Uncle or I sit on you for the next two hours!"

Zack scoffed and pulled at the hand on the back of Phil's head. "How can he call anything when you're suffocating him? Get off, you oaf." Josh hastily withdrew.

Phil threw his head up and gasped for breath. Josh sat comfortably on top of him, still holding his arms. Phil twisted his head around and spoke in a crackling whisper of death, "Uncle."

Josh released his arms but didn't get up. Instead, he said to Zack, "You know, I hate to say it, but he's got a point. It's a funny story, but this kind of stuff happens all the time. Why'd you have to tell us all this now? You could've just waited 'til dinner…"

Zack's face softened. "I don't know. I guess I just feel like Sophie's different. There's something about her, I can't put my finger on it, but it's something. I think this one could really go the distance."

"_Two_ weeks?" Phil was in awe.

Zack eyed him, then shifted his attention back to Josh. "You know what? Go ahead and suffocate him."

"Uh," Josh's eyes shifted, "actually, Zack, do you think you could get us some snacks? Phil and I tried to get them earlier but, there were, circumstances, that, uh…"

Zack smiled brightly and pushed to the edge of the mattress so he could stand. "Sure thing! You know, I think there's still some leftover peach cobbler that would really hit the spot. So long as Suzie managed to keep Oskar at bay, anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Got anything else in mind, or is it entirely up to me?"

"Popcorn," Phil chimed in.

"Ginger ale, if you have it," Kori added.

Josh looked Zack straight in the eye. "Baloney sandwich with all the fixings, curly fries covered in cheese, and a large strawberry lemonade."

Zack didn't even blink as he headed backwards towards the door. "Got it. Be back in a jiff." The door was shut delicately after him, and whistling was heard, softly fading behind the door.

Phil and Kori stared at Josh with jaw-dropped identical expressions.

Josh stared at the door, unbreathing. He exhaled, "Oh," then abruptly sucked it back in. A forest fire sparked behind his eyes. "Oh. Oh-ho, aha. Ahahahaha…"

Phil snapped his head forward and clawed desperately for the other end of the mattress so he could pull himself free.

"Ham." Kori's voice was steel as she watched her best friend dissolving into dirty laughter. "What the _heck?_"

Josh threw his legs forward, placing more of his weight on Phil's back. Phil grunted. Josh didn't notice. "This is fourth happiest day of my entire life."

Kori scooted over on the couch to get a better look at his face, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in uncertainty. "Josh…?"

That snapped him out of it, and he met her eyes with a wide, nearly manic grin that they both knew he was gonna deny making later on. "Didn't you see? Zack like-likes this girl, _really_ like-likes her, and it sounds like she like-likes him right back. He's _happy_. And you know what that means..." He suddenly lept up from the mattress, bouncing the mattress so hard that Phil flew into the air a second before slamming back down on his back. Josh fist-pumped into the air. "We can get him to do whatever we want!"

Phil stared at the sky in a daze. "Eh?"

Josh flopped down beside him, causing him to bounce into the air again. He squeaked and flailed before landing beside Josh, practically shoulder-to-shoulder. He might as well plopped right on top of him, though, because Phil squeaked again and jerked away to hastily sit up. Josh beamed up at him. "I guess it has been a while since Zack's had a real girlfriend, huh? You were pretty young the last time. Boy, are you in for a treat."

Phil stared blankly, wide-eyed, for a long moment, before turning his head to Kori. "Asian, translate."

Kori's mouth flattened out, though her eyes glinted with hidden amusement. She sighed painfully and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Zack gets really lenient when he's crushing on someone, as you saw. You can do pretty much anything to him, ask him to do anything, and he'll smile and go along with it."

It should have been impossible, but Josh's smile appeared to widen. "Last time Zack was like this, I got him to give me his ice cream, sit on the floor so I could have leg room on the couch, and take me to the movies to see Inside Wrestlemania. Twice."

Kori snuffled and shook her head with a breathy chuckle. "Man, I never know whether to be delighted or deeply concerned when you get like this." A smirk touched Josh's lips.

Phil eyed Josh with wary exasperation, rubbing at his abused backside. "And you don't think that's insanely manipulative?"

Josh's smile flipped upside down. "Well, it's not like Zack doesn't deserve it. He's always taking advantage of us, blackmailing us, upstaging us, laughing smugly in our faces, walking around like he's some bigshot with his stupid smirking face. Like he's better than me or something, even though I'm stronger and better looking and nicer and actually know how to listen and—"

A pen hitting him squarely in the forehead shut off his tirade. Josh frowned loudly at the interruption, but Kori's sharp look didn't waver. "Ham, we get it. You're the prettiest princess at the ball. _Chill_."

Josh's frown shifted to one of intense befuddlement. "I'm not a princess."

Kori tilted her head sharply to the side and smirked almost predatorially, but Phil intercepted whatever she was going to say. "Criminy, you're sick. I'd ask you if this obsession was ever gonna end, but I think I already know the answer."

"Don't get all holier-than-thou on me again." Josh met his eyes plainly, no indignation or insult in his tone; it was a simple request. "I know he bugs you, too."

"Everyone bugs me." He shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't mean I lose my nut." Josh's eyebrows snapped up at that before snapping back down as his eyes began boring into him with a relish. He looked away, pouting. "Anyway, I know better than to try to go up against Zack. A few harmless schoolyard pranks are one thing, but I don't have a death wish."

"But that's just the thing." Phil felt Josh sit up, bouncing the bed again, much to his annoyance, and glanced briefly over to see him move to kneel beside him. "This is a risk-free way to get revenge on Zack, because he's too doped up on _'true love'_ to realize it's even happening. There's no repercussions; no blackmail; just sandwiches and lemonade." He looked forward, at nothing in particular, his eyes going a little hazy, almost wistful. "It's one of the few Zack-related joys in my life."

Kori lifted a finger. "It's your only Zack-related joy."

"Thanks, Kori."

"Any time."

Phil couldn't bring himself to look at either of them, so he didn't. He focused on the carpet, hoping the stiffness in his back and shoulders wasn't too obvious. "Whatever. It's not like you'll listen to me if I try to talk you out of it anyway."

"Glad we're on the same page." Josh smiled, teasing. His nostrils flared as he exhaled and he stood up to retrieve the yearbook. "Speaking of, I guess we should get back to it."

Phil stood quickly, nearly stumbling in his haste. He didn't, of course, but it was a close thing. "No."

Two pairs of eyes were thrown at him. He grabbed the ends of his t-shirt and tugged, looking anywhere but at the two older kids. "Let's face it. We're at the end of the book and haven't found anyone who works. The yearbook's a dead end; we could all use a break—we should just stop for now, think up a new way to go at this, and talk about it..." he pursed his lips, his voice slowing, "tomorrow. I gu—Yeah."

Kori and Josh blinked in unison, shared a look, and looked back at him. Josh took on a casual expression and nodded, well aware something was up but deciding it was best to leave it be. "Okay. So for now we can just—"

Zack chose that moment to waltz in with a bag of popcorn and a cup. Helga walked in after him with a half-eaten sandwich and a scowl on her face. "Okay, who told Zack to spoil their dinner?"

"_Aw, Mom!_"

* * *

><p>"So you see, I know we're basically strangers to each other and you've probably heard some nasty rumors about me, and the odds are I'm not going to like you very much if we do get to know each other, but there's this curse I found out about short notice that pretty much condemns me to a life alongside the girl of my nightmares unless I find another girl and hang out with her romantically for the entire year I'm nine. If you didn't know already, that nightmare is Mercy Laporte. I know she's popular and common sense dictates you should ignore everything I say, but trust me when I say she's the devil and I'd rather amputate my arm with a rusty saw than get stuck with her. So long story short, whether I end up liking you or not, next to her you're gonna come out looking like Hedy Lamar every time, and that's gotta count for something, right? So what do you say? Wanna get married in fifteen years?"<p>

Phil groaned, slamming a plastic cup down on the wall in frustrated defeat, milk sloshing out the sides. He watched glumly as the milk fell two stories and splattered against the pavement. It was still mostly dark out, the sun only a suggestion in the eastern sky, and a light sheen of moisture clung to the rooftop and surrounding buildings. The water was only just starting to catch flickers of sunlight. The tops of everything at eye-level with him glittered dimly.

The milk was a dull white smear in the shadows below, drips of it still beading down his cup. He snorted.

"Yeah, that'll work out famously. We'll be in love by nightfall." He propped his elbows up on the wall and stirred at his cereal. It was soggy. He stuffed a spoonful in his mouth anyway. Flipping the empty spoon away, a drip propelling off and plummeting to the ground, he looked out into the dusk and spoke between chews, "This is so wrong. Why is this happening to me? I'm not boyfriend material. I'm barely even friendship material. I exist to yell at people when they're being stupid, that's it. How am I supposed to be the smart, level-headed one if I'm drooling after some skirt? And for what? Because she's pretty?" He swallowed.

Throwing his arms up into the rising sun, milk and cereal both sloshing out the sides, he yelled as loudly as his scratchy voice could go, "_Who cares?_"

Several pigeons threw themselves from their perches and whapped violently away, carried on the winds of fear and desperation. He glared at them, but he couldn't blame them. He wanted to flap off into the sun to escape Phillip Shortman, too.

It wasn't even that he didn't want to get married—he'd always figured he would. But it wasn't anything but a piece of knowledge, a distant assumption, like how he knew one day he'd be going to high school, and then college, and eventually he'd have to start looking into buying some ties and one day that would leak over into shopping for hipbones and dentures. It was just something that would get done one day, because that was just how life worked. You grew up, you got a job, you got married, you had kids, you broke at least twenty bones in your body, and then you died. Not always in that order. He knew all this objectively, but had never stopped to consider just what any of that would entail; what it would really _mean_ for him. When he first found out about the curse and came up with the solution of simply finding another girl, it hadn't sunk it. When he gnawed on it all through Sunday, it hadn't sunk in. When he was going through the yearbook with Josh and Kori, it hadn't sunk in.

When Zack agreed to make Josh a small feast and Josh laughed about what a sucker he was, it occurred to him that he didn't really want to marry someone he didn't love. There was no point in getting married at all if he wasn't completely, irrevocably enamored to the point he literally couldn't imagine _not_ permanently shackling himself. That thought had bounced around in his head as he talked to Josh, until it finally dawned on him that he'd have to find someone he like-liked, and to do that, he'd essentially have to become like Zack, and Josh, and Dad, and _Tristan_. Stumbling into walls, smiling like an idiot, being forced on his knees by a girl, all while being willing to forsake anything and everyone around him just to be with said girl.

The thought made him want to throw up. Again. Which had been exactly what he was avoiding by going through with this plan, so he was pretty much back to stage one, only this time there was no way to get around it. It was either find someone to replace Mercy with, someone who turned him into a chump, or die. Or, not literally die, but the effect would be the same. Maybe it would be either way.

Never mind the fact he wasn't sure he was even capable of liking someone like that. He never had before. Never even had an inkling of it. Why would he start now?

Could a fish learn to climb if it was determined enough not to hit the ground? That was the question.

The answer wasn't promising.

Forget this. He pivoted, strode to the skylight and fiddled at the latch. He was determined not to think one more thing about it until either Josh or Kori brought it up again. It was ruining his morning, and this was the only quiet time he got before all hell broke loose. He was just done. Through. Finished. Finito. No more thinking.

Holy crap, what if it did work out and he ended up like _Dolly?_

He exploded into hyperventilation. The latch slipped from his fingers.

_No_, he consoled himself, clasping a hand to his mouth. There was no way he would ever be like that. Dolly might be in '_love_,' the word rang mockingly in his mind, but she was also an epic psychofreak. He was not an epic psychofreak, so as long as he stayed self-aware and in control, he would be fine. He had to be. He'd _force_ himself. With renewed fervor, he went at the latch, ignoring the way his hands slipped and slid, and silently lifted the window. Sitting his cup aside, he stepped down in, grabbed it again, and softly as a mouse, stepped down onto the bed. His parents lay in a tangle on it, his mom drooling all over his dad's cotton sleep shirt and his dad serene as always. Zack was curled on his side on the couch, snoring softly, and Josh had his mouth wide open, tangled amongst the soft pink blankets and sheets of the floor mattress. He exhaled slowly, carefully.

Besides, girls weren't all bad. His mom was amazing, Suzie and Lola were both lovely, sweet people, Grandma Gertie was… Grandma Gertie, and Stella had to be the most incredible woman in existence. She'd fought pirates, trekked jungles, and saved thousands of lives with her medical expertise time after time. If he could find someone like Stella, kind and empathetic and smart and badass, he'd be a happy boy.

But that was asking for too much. He sighed and stepped down off the bed. Miles hadn't met Stella until he was well into his twenties. He only had a few weeks before he turned nine.

He pursed his lips and sulked in front of the door for a while, his free hand clinging loosely to the knob. He didn't know why Mercy couldn't have simply been a better person. This would be so much easier if the thought of holding her hand didn't make him want to blow up mountains and terrorize villages. If he could believe even for a second there might be more to her than hairspray and mouth breathing, he could give her a chance.

He grimaced. Okay, so no, he couldn't. If she turned out to be the single most perfect creature in the entire galaxy, he still wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. There was no coming back from their history; the years of sneering and shoving and tripping and insulting. If that was how she expressed her affection, he didn't want it. He didn't want any of it. He couldn't imagine a single thing in the whole wide universe that could make him look at her as anything but his natural-born enemy.

He supposed she did get under his skin, though, which was still proving to be a disturbing realization…but it was in a venomous parasite kind of way.

He snorted. A loud snore erupted behind him. He snatched the door open and practically threw himself down the stairs.

All was calm until he reached the first floor. He shuffled towards the kitchen to dispose of his snack, when a soft noise stopped him in his tracks. He blinked, and strained his ears. It sounded like… knocking. Quiet knocking. Like a pebble being rapped against a block of wood.

He turned to the front door. It had stopped as quickly as it had began, the house falling back into peaceful silence. He stood awkwardly, uncertain of what to do. Maybe he'd just imagined it.

The door shook with the force of the knocking that took place the next second. He jumped, and dropped his cup in horror. Paying no mind to the splattering of milk and cereal at his feet, he rushed to the door and threw it wide.

The girl on the other side froze mid-knock. Slowly, she looked down, meeting his crazed, horrified eyes, and blinked. Her hand stayed suspended. She looked surprised, as if she couldn't believe trying to smash the door in with her fist would make someone come to the door.

He took all of two seconds to take her in, from the floppy green hat to the plaid skirt. Campfire lass. A stinking campfire lass just tried to wake up the entire house. He scowled and was just about to whisper-scream for her to take a hike when she spoke.

"He...llo." She blinked at him again, glanced at her fist, and gradually lowered it. She smiled, but there was something off about it. "Are… your parents home?" She looked over him, peeking into the house.

His face went red. He waved his arm above his head to block her view. "It's six in the morning! They're _asleep_."

Her eyes snapped back to his, looking even more shocked than before. Criminy, what a dope. He placed his hand on his hip and went on in his matter-of-fact tone, "I'm perfectly capable of speaking for my family. We want nothing to do with you or anything you're selling, so thanks but no thanks, goodbye." He slammed the door in her face.

_Some people_. He shook his head to the ceiling and stepped for—

The knocking started up again, and he whipped around and threw it back open in a panic. "Stop doing that!" he hissed, eyes wide.

She leaned forward, like she wanted to step in. He leaned back, she realized what was happening, and quickly leaned back as well. She opened her mouth like she was going to take a breath, but then just closed it and briefly shut her eyes. "Look, I know it's really early. I'm not any happier to be here than you are, but you're my first house. Could you please just… humor me?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not buying anything from you."

"That's fine. You don't have to. I just… I know…" She opened her eyes. They were violet. "Humor me. Please."

He looked at her peculiarly. She just looked so pathetic. Finally, he let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

She instantly straightened and issued him a winning smile. "Hello, kind sir. I'm sorry for bothering you in your home, but I believed it to be in everyone's best interests if I came to offer you some delicious campfire lass chocolate turtles. They're only 4 dollars a box, that's nearly fifteen chocolate turtles each, and all funds go to orphanages across the state to help little boys and girls just like me." Her smile took a decidedly cutesy turn. A laugh tickled at his throat, but it wasn't quite strong enough to escape.

The second her speech was over, she deflated. She clutched her hands together and asked quietly, "How was that? Did I do okay?"

Phil's face was contorting. "You sounded like a commercial."

"Is that bad?"

"I don't know." He tilted his head at her, considering. "I guess that was the point. I don't think it was bad. I almost want to buy something from you now." He pointed a stern finger at her, eyes hardening as he strained up on his feet. "_Almost_."

She smiled slightly, her eyes softening in turn. "Thanks. It's a start." She took a step back and looked up, around at the house, troubled but assessing. "This is a boarding house, right?" She met his eyes. "There's more than just one family here?"

Phil blinked, his finger dropping. "Uh. Technically."

She smiled again. He blinked a couple more times. "That's why I chose to come here first. Do you think I could come inside and—"

"No," he deadpanned. A stranger wanting to be invited into his home after only two minutes of acquaintance. Oh, that was a good one.

Her smile fell. He frowned. "Oh. Well, maybe I could wait until someone wakes up then?"

Oh, for Pete's sake. "No," he repeated in much the same tone. "That would be stupid. My parents and brothers'll be waking up in half an hour, but you'll just get the door in your face again. The rest of the house doesn't get up for another few hours. You're wasting your time here."

She made no expression. After a moment, she shrugged. "Okay. Can I still wait?"

He looked at her as if she'd just asked if she could borrow his magic flying Pegasus. "You want to stand out here for an hour and a half?"

"Well, at least until your family wakes up. If you don't mind."

Phil blanked. Slowly, he turned his head to the right. There was a long line of brownstone, all filled with other poor, unsuspecting victims. He turned left. Another long, long line. He turned back to her with a withering look. "You do realize you're in a neighborhood? You could at least move down the block and come back later?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He stared, unblinking.

She blinked several times rapid fire, more than enough for the both of them. Otherwise, she looked perfectly tranquil. "Is that a problem?"

_Well_ then. He raised his eyebrows up, flicked his eyes to the sky in a 'suit yourself' fashion and turned with a wave of his hand. "Knock yourself out, loser."

The door closed.

He tossed his cup away, placed the spoon in the sink, and cleaned the mess up from the floor. It was at the precise moment he was sitting the mop back into the closet that the reality of his situation finally slapped him in the face with a cold, wet fish, and everything went black.

He threw the door open so hard the knob crashed into the wall and caused a dent. His chest heaved with adrenaline and his eyes were aflame as he looked down at her sitting on the stoop, legs spread out in front of her. She startled and looked up at him. He processed none of this. Everything that was his soul came out in the exclamation, "You're a girl!"

Her eyes were dinner plates as she stared up at him. Very deliberately, she nodded and said, "Yes…"

He snapped his eyes up and down her body, giving her a more thorough once-over now that her chromosomes had been established. Dark charcoal brown hair, smooth skin, bright yellow knee-socks. Her features were a little chubby, her nose long and protruding, her bangs choppy, but her eyes were striking. Yes. Yes, she would do just fine. "What school do you go to?"

"Um…" She looked like she wanted to blink but was afraid that might set him off. Her eyes stayed locked with his. "PS 118…"

He breathed out sharply. How did they miss her? "How long?"

She looked confused.

He practically vibrated. "How long have you gone to PS 118?"

"About... About three months."

_That's_ why she hadn't been in the yearbook. She was new. She'd just started attending in August. She likely knew nothing about him, and because Campfire Lasses were like a cult, they ate lunch alone together in their fortress of freakitude, so she wouldn't have seen any of Mercy and his stunts in the cafeteria. She was a fresh slate. Untainted. Untried. His fingernails dug into the wood of the doorway. He had to make sure. "Do you hate me?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "No."

_I don't even know you, strange little boy, _went unsaid, but he heard it all the same. He tried to calm down. He failed. He forced his shoulders to relax to give the impression of calmness instead. In the most casual voice he owned, he said, "Oh, that's cool. I go there, too. And I also don't hate you." Oh, this was going great. They already had so much in common. Maybe they really would be in love by nightfall.

She didn't appear to agree. "Are you okay?"

"Not really. What's your name?"

"Sarina. Do you need medical attention? Your breathing sounds off." She started to stand.

He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. He grew tired of craning his neck back to look at people's faces. "Oh, no, I'm fine physically. Really, don't worry about it. Sarina."

She made a strange face, but allowed his hand to keep her seated. "Oh, no one calls me Sarina. That just… Force of habit. You can call me Sara." He blinked at her, and she exhaled, her voice lowering to a murmur, "Please call me Sara."

"Sara..."

"Yes."

"Sara."

"…Yes?"

He rolled it around on his tongue. Sarina Shortman. Sara Shortman. He nodded slowly. "That's… a nice name."

She smiled the same smile of before. Something really was off about it, something he didn't quite know what to make of, but it was a smile all the same. He decided he'd get used to it. "Thank you." She hesitated. "What… What grade are you in, exactly?"

"Fourth."

She nodded like this didn't surprise her. "That's quite an accomplishment."

A line appeared between his eyebrows at first, then one raised. He withdrew his hand. "Well, gosh, thank you. How about you?"

"I'm in fifth," she answered automatically.

He did a slow clap, like she'd just scored a hole in one. "Oh, _good job_."

She caught the sarcasm. A wisp of a smile revealed itself in her bemusement.

The conversation lapsed after that. He rocked on his heels just for something to do, watched her look from him to the rubix cube he just realized was in her hands, and swallowed. Criminy.

What now? Should he ask her out for coffee?

She fiddled a little with the cube, not actually changing anything; it looked more like she just wanted to look busy. Well. At least he wasn't the only one who didn't know what the heck to do. He really should have thought this over more carefully. Rigorous training in how not to make a girl want to vaporize you was in order. He made note.

Her voice made him jolt back to the present. "Hey, I'm sorry if I offended you or anything." Her shoulders huddled inward, and the rubix cube twirled between her fingers as she stared down at it. "You sounded like I offended you somehow, so, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

He stared down at her. Something flashed across his eyes, but it was gone the same second it appeared. "That's okay."

She looked up and met his eyes again. A smile spread across her face, soft and relieved.

He continued to stare. "You know, now that I've had time to think it over, I think I will take you up on your offer."

Her eyes widened. She threw the rubix cube away and sat up straight as an arrow. A notepad was whipped out of nowhere and a pencil magically produced. "Offer?"

He snorted at her reaction and fell against the door. "Yeah, why not? Put me up for two. I'm sure someone around here will eat them. Besides, you ought to be rewarded for not faking that stupid accent."

She stilled in her frenzied scribbling. "Oh... uh..."

"Ch. Don't worry, you reek of newb. Clearly they haven't brainwashed you yet. Don't let them get to you, would you? Nobody likes the accent. It won't do anything for your cause."

She stayed still for a moment longer before she resumed her scribbling. "No chance of that," he heard her mumble as she finished her writing and flipped the pad closed. He raised an eyebrow, but she just tossed him a smile and stood. Her skirt swished against her legs. "Thank you for your business."

He stood straight in alarm. "You going somewhere?"

She faltered. After a moment of study, she placed her hands on her thighs and spoke as if she were confessing a sin, "I was thinking about it before you came out."

He scrunched his face. Weird girl. She wanted to stay, she wanted to leave. Now he knew what people meant when they said relationships were like emotional rollercoasters. Still, despite his misgivings, he pursed his lips and nodded. "I need to get ready for school anyway."

She picked up her rubix cube and stuck it in her shirt, along with the notepad. The pencil was stuck behind her ear. Once all that was done, she clapped her hands together and huffed through a smile. "Maybe we'll run into each other again sometime."

Obviously. "Mayhaps."

She paused a second in her turning, and gave him an odd look, before continuing down the stoop to the sidewalk. He shut the door with a lightness he didn't know what to do with. His hands lightly shook in the aftershocks of his disbelief. Maybe things were looking up after all.

Meanwhile, Olga stood silently at the top of the stairs, watching. She watched as he stood for a long time. She watched as he closed the closet door. She watched as he headed blindly for the staircase.

She turned and tip-toed quickly back to her room, barely concealing her smile.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** OH SNAP SON

No, but when Phil looks Sara up and down and thinks, "Yes, she will do just fine," I can't help picturing that accompanied by a deep, heavily rasping voice and him already estimating the temperature it's gonna take to cook her in his oven.

This is my life.

I really just... I don't know what to say. Let's get to questions.

**Q -** **Ever thought of doing a chapter with all Arnold and Helga children from the "Hey Arnold!" series episode called "Married"? It would be either a INTERESTING Comic strip or chapter is you had Helga and Arnold kids dream of there prospective crush's or who people think they will married and have them react in the morning.**

**A -** It's never occurred to me before, but that would make a hilarious comic strip. x'D It's a good idea. I have a lot of things to draw right now, but I'll write that one down. If it ever gets done, I'll give you credit and let you know. :D Thanks for the idea!

**Q -** **Will Zack and Pam finds out and be more understanding to why Phil acts?**

**A -** Oh, man. Well. Uh. Zack and Pam will find out some stuff. Levels of understanding may vary. You'll just have to read and see. x'''D

**Q -** **GASP! MIKE! I don't remember being warned about mike being in this chapter. he's such a bad ass. what did the napkin say?**

**A -** Answering these because I want to, deal wif it. I did mention Mike was gonna be in this chapter in a past A/N, but I don't blame you for not remembering it. I didn't even remember it until I read back a couple chapters. The napkin just had another one of Zack's awesome poems on it. Nothing special. xD

**Q -** **GASP! VINNY! ooooh! what goes on here? what did you do to phil vin? I must know. ARG! impatient! its not fair I wanna know now!**

**A -** *cliched maniacal laughter*

**Q -** **so yeah I checked the original character list for lee and kayla but not rosalaine. but rose is body's sister correct? how do you pronounce her name? is it like rozlyn or rose-lane or roz-lane or what?**

**A -** Roselaine is Brody's big sis, yepperoni. I'm not entirely sure how that name is pronounced, if I'm being honest, I just picked it out 'cause of reasons, but I've been thinking of it like "Rose - el- lane." That damn phonics. That might be way off point, but that's my answer.

**Q -** **OKAY! dead serious. this is the most important question you will ever answer ever... how do you like better me or coldblue?**

**A -** *exaggerated mother voice* Now, dearhearts. You know I love both of you equally.

**Q -** **I forgot who's Sara? Also what did Dolly do to those girls?!**

**A -** I don't know if you guys remember, or if you even read it, but she's from "Family Movie Night," the sparkling manure pile that started it all. She was the campfire lass Phil fell madly in love with on first sight. She didn't have a name until **writergirl97** came along and wrote a bunch of fanfics shipping Phil with an OC of her's named Sarah. I liked them so much I stole the name. :)))

Dolly killed them with the candlestick in the dining room.

**Q -** **What is it about Mike that makes Zack so nervous?!**

**A -** August had hazel eyes. Mike has hazel eyes. :) In general, though, Zack tends to get nervous around aggressive people. You'll notice he pretty much avoids them at all costs.

Welp, yes. That's about it. Like I said, shit's about to get real over here, so I'd better wrap this up. Love you guys. c: Let me know what you think of this chapter by leaving a...

**_REVIEW!_**


	27. Breathing Slowly: Part 7

**A/N:** THE SAGA CONTINUES... or something.

The song for this chap is actually one of my favorites. If you like kinda weird bouncy songs, I recommend giving it a listen. It's one of the few I actually had picked out for BS before I even started writing. Yeah, it's pretty legit. Yo yo.

So I've decided to just stop with the whole pretense of "keeping it to 14,000 words or less" since I only seem to update, like, three to four times a year? What? This update is like 35,000 or something, so yeah, it should about last you guys until the next update. Really I get into this mindset of "Well, I don't wanna overwhelm them with my OC jizz," but if you've made it this far, I'm gonna assume you're okay with OC jizz. More than okay, in fact. This whole fic is basically one big cesspool of OC jizz. You have all been thoroughly coated in my original character jizz and there isn't a tomato soup strong enough to get rid of the stench now. You're doomed, I'm doomed—let's just roll with it.

Anyway... uh... seems like I had more to say but I can't think of anything now. Oh well. *eye twitches*

OH YEEEAAAAH HEY I REACHED 300 REVIEWS

*waves someone else's underwear above head* I AM SO HAPPPYYYYY omg you guys, like, the academy, my mom, thank, none of those bastards at the chinese buffet with their shit-ass food, my fifth grade teacher, my old principal, no, no thank, they go hell, yes, but not academy, mom, thank there, and the pasta and choc cake at old school, lot thank there yum

Okay, yeah, now we can move along. THANKS SO MUCH GUYSSSS:

**~THEY'RE BEAUTY, THEY'RE GRACE, THEY'RE MS. UNITED STATES~**

**metalheadrailfan**

**SideshowJazz1**

**KarinaWatchadoin**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**Conor Dachisen**

**coldblue**

**Panfla**

**coldblue**

**NerdilyNi**

**puffball17**

**Daisy83**

You are all the moon lighting my darkest night. Thank.

And again I have to give a shout out to **coldblue** and **puffball17**, because their reviews are always amazing and leave me feeling thoroughly giddy and thoughtful. Feel lucky you don't live anywhere near me because if you did I'd be all over you two like cheap suits. Platonically. For the most part. Probably.

Now that the tradition of me making things awkward as hell has been fulfilled, you may read! I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Kori Johanssen belongs to **xxP00h67chu**. Half of Pam Idleberry belongs to **Panfla**.

* * *

><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 7**

_"You build your heart of plastic,_

_get cynical and sarcastic,_

_and end up in the corner on your own."_

—_Passenger_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two Years in the Future<strong>_

_**A Week from Present**_

Arnold tapped the cell phone off with the mechanic and released a long sigh. "Unbelievable."

Helga snorted. "Both of our cars' tires found mysteriously flat minutes after Phil comes skipping back into the house? Oh, yeah. Real unbelievable." She shot a scathing look at her youngest son.

He sat in a large lilac armchair, and when he met her eyes it was listlessly, while chewing on a stick of celery. Rather than replying to the blatant implication, he shrugged, like it couldn't be helped, and took another obnoxiously crunchy bite. Helga's nostrils flared.

Meanwhile Amanda was beaming ear-to-ear. "Oh well! I guess it just wasn't meant to be," she declared.

Arnold walked over to stand beside where she sat on the floor by the coffee table, and placed a hand on her head. He frowned down at her as she met his eyes. "Aren't you even a little concerned about the change in plans, Amanda? Olga and I had big plans for Chris this afternoon."

Her smile was dazzling. "Nope!" At the grim disapproval now shining in his eyes, she dropped the smile and looked at him very seriously, almost solemn, as she disclosed, "I believe everything happens for a reason."

Phil snorted. Josh sunk deeper into the couch and stared deeper into his phone, trying to disappear. Arnold and Helga shared a look.

Olga sat on the armchair opposite Phil's, a cup of still-steaming tea cradled delicately in her hands. She frowned faintly, a troubled look resting on her gently-aging features. "It's such a pity. I was looking forward to meeting Christopher today." She sighed and lifted her cup to take a sip. "Another time, perhaps."

Amanda smiled, and didn't bother to correct her. Arnold just rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

The doorbell chose that moment to ring five times each second of the entire minute it took for everyone to be shocked, recover, and wander out into the hallway to answer the door. Helga did the opening, aggressively and with an irritated scowl, only to gasp and take a step back when Chris suddenly barreled inside, tripped over his own shoelace halfway through the door, and fell flat on his face before Amanda's feet. His skateboard clattered beside him and rolled off to the side. Amanda gasped and took a couple stumbling steps back.

Chris coughed into the carpet and pushed himself up so he was resting on his elbows. He smiled, weakly. "Sup."

Amanda's eyes rolled back into her head as she fainted.

* * *

><p>"So," Olga began brightly ten minutes later, "Christopher—"<p>

"Christian," he interrupted. He sat beside Amanda on the couch, a knuckle currently shoved into his ear to try to clear out some wind. His skateboard sat beneath his feet on the floor, placed there rather pointedly after he refused to let Arnold take it from him. His face was cautiously blank, but with a faint gleam of interest in his dark eyes.

"Oh." She blinked a couple times, quickly, before recovering her enthusiastic smile. "My mistake, Christian—"

"Don't call me that," he interrupted again, harsher this time. "It's Chris. Just Chris."

Olga's mouth opened and closed as she struggled with the concept of calling someone by a nickname.

Concurrently, Chris stared at her very intensely for another moment, as he'd been doing every couple of minutes, before leaning over to whisper at Amanda in gross fascination, as if speaking of an especially slimy slug, "She's like an older, more obnoxious version of you. And I didn't think that last part was possible."

Amanda adjusted the bag of ice over her head and made a low groaning sound in the back of her throat. Arnold, who was sitting beside her in a mush of oblivious contentment, shot her a look of surprise. Then disconcertion. And finally, pain. He looked towards the door, wondering longingly where Helga had snuck off to. He blinked and frowned, thinking. Or Ham. Everyone was determined to abandon him, it seemed.

Olga appeared to have regained her faculties by this time and said with a pretty, sheepish smile, "You'll have to forgive me. I've been traveling abroad for too long, in too many different cultures. To avoid confusion, it's become something of a habit of mine to call everyone by their full..." she giggled, "christian name."

Chris' eyes narrowed lightly in confusion. Despite clearly not understanding, he said, "Okay," and nodded politely. It was a testament to how used to the Shortmans he'd become that he didn't even flinch when the front door was heard swinging open and closed, and Zack came strutting in.

Arnold frowned at his entry. "And just where have you been?"

Zack walked over to stand beside his dad and placed one hand on the back of the couch, the other going to the armrest, as he leaned over with a relaxed expression. "Just taking care of some business that'd become pressing. No need to get your panties in a knot." He spotted Chris then and smiled widely. "Hey, Chris. I didn't see you there."

"Hi," Chris said curtly, then turned his head back to monitor Amanda as she worked her jaw.

Zack stared at him for a little while longer, before finally coming to terms with the fact he wouldn't be getting any further acknowledgement and looking back to his dad. This proved to be a mistake, because Arnold was looking at him with all the fatherly disapproval and barely suppressed anger it was possible to hold in one expression. The _Zachary Shortman, how dare you do something I do not like for the eighty-thousandth time, I'm gonna lecture the shit out of you _couldn't have been anymore deeply implied if it had been written in red ink across his forehead and emblazoned on his retinas. Zack just puffed out his bottom lip and sniffled. Arnold rolled his eyes.

The gross fascination was back on Chris' face. Amanda's eye may have twitched. Olga's laugh was like a hundred tiny butterflies fluttering across the room.

"Are you going to apologize to your Aunt Olga for leaving immediately after your arrival?" Arnold asked ominously.

Zack gave a light huff, really more an unusually extravagant exhale, and glanced in Olga's direction with dancing eyes, like he was letting her in on some inside joke. "Sorry, Auntie."

Olga waved him off with another burst of butterflies. "No offense taken, Zachary. I remember that age well. I always had somewhere I needed to be speeding off to as well. You're here now, and that's what counts."

"Seriously," Chris cut in, "you better not start calling me Christian. No one's allowed to call me that."

Olga was startled, but in too good a mood to feel really put upon. She smiled gently. "Not even Amanda?"

Chris' face seemed to freeze in time. Amanda's nostrils flared and she scooted a few meaningful inches away from him on the couch. He felt the shift, and snapped a quick glance at her, before looking back to meet Olga's eyes with a scowl. "_Especially_ not Amanda."

Arnold coughed into his fist and flicked his eyes briefly to meet Olga's, inconspicuously shaking his head. She concealed a smirk behind her cup.

Phil had been silently stewing in his chair up to this point, and chose then to speak up. Not very quietly, he muttered, "Subtle."

Arnold forced himself to look at him calmly, but the alarm was still clear on his face for anyone who knew him well enough. Phil couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of it, and forced himself deep in his chair. Crossing his arms tighter across his chest, he asked in a deliberately nasally voice, "Well, what? Is it supposed to be a secret?"

"National security," Zack quipped, grinning, though something almost warning shone in his eyes. Phil slit his eyes at him for it. Amanda shifted her eyes between them both, her eyes bright and countenance clear and slack.

Chris cut in again, looking to Arnold with genuine curiosity, "Does no one in your family respect you at all?"

Arnold couldn't help it. He tried valiantly to suppress it, but in the end, the scowl won. Chris took this as the confirmation it was and grinned meanly.

"For the record," Phil retorted, drawing the room's attention, "we _do_ respect him, we just don't _fear_ him. There's a huge difference. Not that it's any of your business."

Chris gaped at him in trepidation, but Arnold neatly defended him before he could stutter anything out that would make things worse, "I think he means that you guys don't always listen to me."

Phil shrugged. "Sometimes you're wrong. Adults _are_ capable of that, you know." His eyes rolled away as he dryly murmured, "Some more than others."

Chris clapped his hands together twice before gesturing to him with both arms, all while giving Amanda a wild-eyed look. "_See?_"

"No!" The shout startled Chris backwards in his seat. Phil's eyes were on fire. "You _do not _get to agree with me! You shouldn't even be here—why _are_ you? I know you didn't ride all the way here because you wanted to _learn_. As if you have the _capacity—_"

"You never cared before," Chris responded weakly, instinctively.

Phil threw up his arms, as if trying to upend the very air in frustration. "I thought you were just another one of Dad's stupid charity cases! A dumb kid who'd get kicked back to the curb as soon as Dad was satisfied you wouldn't have a nervous breakdown the next time someone asked you what two plus two was! How was I supposed to know he was gonna start trying to pair you up with my sister? This whole situation is ridiculous!"

Chris' expression shuttered; Arnold was stunned speechless; Zack had slammed his face down into his hand as soon as Phil finished talking; Olga was batting her eyes in pretty bewilderment, as she had been doing for the past five minutes; and Amanda... Amanda was in awe.

Before Amanda could fall to her knees in worship, Olga graced them once more with the softly babbling brooks and cooing doves that were her vocal cords, "You object to the match? Why? Are you afraid Christi-" she caught herself, "Chris will hurt her?" She had a look on her face like she was fully prepared for him to answer in the positive, and deliver a tear-jerking, melodramatic speech that spanned approximately seven and a half minutes on exactly why he was probably completely off the mark.

But Phil just snorted and waved her off, dismissing her unspoken speech. "Oh, please. Amanda's evil. If anyone's gonna get hurt, it'll be the kid. He'll have his head chewed off and half his liver collapsing in on itself before they even make it to the altar. No," and here he looked at Chris' blank face with a scowl, "I just can't stand him being around so much, contaminating everything we own with his nasty little eight year old germs." He shuddered.

"Since when do you care about germs?" Zack interjected, voice strangled with skeptical amusement as he raked a stressing hand through his hair. "I once saw you shove a handful of mud in your mouth with an earth worm the size of my arm."

At the look Olga shot him, Phil flushed slightly. "I didn't know about the worm," he told her, as if that explained everything.

Zack huffed out a silent laugh, still skeptical and maybe a bit hysterical, and placed a hand on his dad's arm to give him a light shake. It had its intended effect, as Arnold snapped out of his shock and barked, "Phillip Shortman!"

"Don't 'Phillip' me," Phil snapped, his eyes not showing any sign of cooling. "You're the one who's been dragging this out. He's been around for months! If he doesn't know how to count on his fingers by now, he's hopeless."

Chris stood up abruptly. His feet made harsh contact with the forgotten skateboard, and it skidded to one side before rising, and Chris inhaled sharply as his foot twisted and he fell awkwardly on his side, one arm banging against the coffee table. Arnold was up first, like a shot, followed by Amanda, but Chris batted them away with a watery huff. "No—I'm fine! Really!" He started trying to push himself up, feebly. Arnold grabbed him from under his arms and pulled him up anyway, and despite his earlier protests, Chris let him. Amanda took the bag of ice from her head and grabbed his arm so she could press it to his elbow. He stared at it, frozen in the moment. Amanda was frowning at him.

The moment passed and he exploded into motion. He pushed away from Arnold and tried to snatch the ice bag off so he could throw it on the table, but Amanda held his arm firm and pushed him onto the couch, dislodging his grip. He fell back with a gasp, and Amanda took the opportunity to grab his arm again and push the bag of ice onto it, glaring all the while. He scowled back, his furious blush the only outward evidence of his mortification.

Arnold watched the scene with a distant blossoming of warmth in his chest, and dull shock on his features. A choked noise captured his attention next and he looked up to see Phil staring at the two of them with horror etched onto every contour of his face, and the warmth was replaced with something much darker. He cast a look at Olga. She met his eyes and nodded understandingly. He took the cue and looked back to Phil, crooking his finger in his direction. "Phillip, a word."

Phil's eyes snapped onto his, unusually pale, and nodded.

As he walked past Zack on his way out of the room, flanking his father, he 'bumped' his hand against his side and whispered a simple warning, almost completely silent even in the dead quiet of the room, "Poetry."

Zack's fingernails dug into the couch's arm.

Ham chose that moment to wander back into the room, and took in the uncomfortable look on Olga's face, the clear upset on Chris,' and the fury in Amanda's, before meeting Zack's eyes with furrowed eyebrows. Awkwardly, he sidled up by him and muttered, "What did I miss this time?"

Zack glanced at him. His smile was strained, but sincere. "I'll fill you in as soon as I've figured it out."

* * *

><p>"Ow, ow, ow, ow—This is really undignified, Dad, seriously—"<p>

He only just managed to stop himself from slamming the patio door shut. He did not release his son's ear. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't ground you for the rest of your life."

Phil huffed impatiently, the olive green of the patio chairs making his eyes seem supernaturally bright as they rolled away. "Okay, maybe because you can't actually do that 'cause I'll eventually turn eighteen and be completely out of your jurisdiction—"

"Do you want to test that on your mother?"

Phil clamped his mouth shut.

"Glad we're on the same page. Now then, care to explain your actions or would you like me to recite my understanding of them back to you?"

"That would be rich," he heard Phil mutter just under his breath before he gave a sharp pull on his ear. Phil's breath caught. "Okay! So, you wanted your matchmaking to be a secret, whatever—How was I supposed to know? You were so obvious about it—"

"Phil," he snapped. "I'm not matchmaking. I haven't been from the beginning."

Phil's bark of laughter was sudden enough to cause him to flinch, much to his chagrin. "Oh, criminy, is that how I sound when I lie? That's terrible, Dad, it really is."

"Interesting," Arnold ground out, yanking at his ear again and watching Phil wince with a crude satisfaction, "seeing as I wasn't lying." At Phil's skeptical look, he sighed and lowered his arm, lightening his hold. "Really. Maybe I should have just told you from the beginning. I thought your reactions were funny, but, no. I realized early on in our tutoring sessions just how much of a distraction Faith was to Chris. He deliberately acts out around her, and it wasn't conducive to getting him through the third grade. After the first couple unsuccessful weeks, I set up for her to go straight to Harold and Patty's after school, and bought some coloring books for her to work on when that wasn't an option. It's only been in the last month, with Chris coming over more often, that she's been around again."

Phil's eyebrows furrowed in incomprehension. "You're really not trying to..."

"Of course not. Amanda is seven, Chris is eight. They're not..." He sighed and finally let go of Phil's ear, just so he could run that hand down his face. "They're just not. At first, I'll admit, I did want to have them together as much as possible. I thought Amanda would be good for him. But whenever he's around, she's not... herself." He ignored Phil's snort, for now. He looked down on him sternly. "But none of this is important, Phil. No matter the circumstances, you never should have behaved like that. It wasn't just inappropriate. It was cruel."

"Cruel would have been to let it continue without saying anything," Phil snapped this time, glaring at him. "Cruel is telling an idiot you can magically turn him into a smart person when it's impossible, because said idiot is too idiotic to actually attempt anything scholastic. Cruel is dragging it out for _months_, and making everyone you claim to care about above all others uncomfortable. Cruel is shoving two people together who want nothing to do with each other because you think it's cute."

Arnold's eyes were wide. "Phil!"

"Well, it's true!" Phil all but ran to the other side of the patio, where a potted plant sat decoratively in one corner. It was tall, almost taller than him, with a few flowers just starting to bloom. He fingered them, his back turned. When it inevitably came, it was quiet but harsh, "I'm sorry."

Arnold breathed deeply and leaned his head against his arm over the door, trying to reign in his anger and think rationally. He watched Phil as he thought a few moments, still fingering at that plant, before he managed to speak with some measure of his usual calm, "This isn't like you. You're frustrating, but usually you have _some_ tact. He's been around our house for a little over a month now, and you haven't done anything like this. Why now? Why in front of your aunt?" When he didn't respond, he thought it over some more. "Did something happen at school?"

His hand jerked away from the plant, and Arnold knew he'd hit the nail on the head. He sighed and walked over to pull up one of the patio chairs, settling in for a long discussion. Just before his pants hit the seat, he found himself pausing, just for an instant, hit with a sudden startling clarity. It had been a while since they'd done this. Too long. He wondered why, even as he knew the exact reason. He settled a tad more forcefully into the chair than necessary, and folded his hands tight between his knees.

"Tell me what happened."

From this new angle, Phil was able to see him out of the corner of his eye, and was watching him now. Arnold lifted his eyebrows, and he glanced away. "I don't see the point in doing that."

Arnold didn't quite gnash his teeth. He just... breathed in a little too much cold January air at once. That was all. He told him, "Just as well, I would like an explanation." When Phil just chewed on his thumbnail, Arnold went on a bit sterner, "Dr. Bliss is meant to aid communication between us. Not halt it all together. You know that, right?"

Phil let out a harsh burst of breath and abruptly met his eyes. "I don't like people intruding."

Arnold's eyes softened, infinitesimally. "He needs help, Phil. I can't just abandon him."

"But why do you have to help him here? Or at home? Or the boarding house? Why do all your charity cases have to crowd over into—" He cut himself off, and crossed his arms.

Arnold's eyes were on his arms. He was closing himself off, again. He flicked his eyes back to his son's, and held, hoping none of his sadness leaked through. "I'm an open-hearted person, Phil. I wish you could be, too."

Arnold may not have gnashed his teeth, but Phil did.

Arnold decided full-disclosure would be a good idea, in light of recent events. So, leaning back some in his chair, he said, "He reminds me of someone." A beat passed. Seeing that he'd captured Phil's interest, he felt reasonably encouraged and went on, "I can't put my finger on who, but it's been driving me crazy ever since I met him. I have a vague memory from when I was a kid, of someone calling me 'Monkey Boy.' I helped him, too. But it was a long time ago, too long, and I can't..." His face strained with frustration.

"You've helped a lot of people," Phil quietly filled in the blanks.

Arnold smiled tightly. "He's an orphan, Phil. He lives with his aunt. His dad left him when he was four, his mom before even that."

Phil's arms had slackened, and his face was loose with confusion. His intention was clear, and Arnold knew he knew what he wanted to do. Much to Arnold's happiness, he asked, "You... Can't you just do a search for his last name? Or ask his aunt?"

Arnold shook his head. "He has his mom's last name, and I've already talked to his aunt about it, many times, but she said she doesn't know much about him past that he bears a strong resemblance to Chris and her sister used to refer to him as Voldemort." They both had a father-son eye roll moment. "They never married. Apparently, they separated, his mom gave birth to Chris, and didn't tell his dad until... Well. It's weird. Chris doesn't even have very many memories of his mom. Before that point, he was mostly raised by his uncle, a mechanic that lives a few states over. Fawn told me he was dropped off pretty suddenly into his dad's care, and a year later, he located her and did the equivalent of leaving a basket on her doorstep." Phil made a choked noise, and Arnold nodded his agreement. "He left a letter. He sends money all the time, and presents on his birthday. But... none of them were signed, or had a return address." He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, pushing it back. "The only way to get his name would be to ask Chris, and I've tried. He never wants to talk about it, and I can't blame him."

They drifted into a solemn silence, his words an almost physical weight between them. This wasn't the first tragedy he'd told to Phil, and it wouldn't be the last. He didn't want his kids to be under any misconceptions about the world. Phil was right, adults could be wrong, very wrong, and Arnold was glad that he knew it. He just wished he wouldn't use it as an excuse to act out. Arnold wasn't perfect, he'd gone to great lengths to make Phil aware of that, but he was his father. He needed respect. Full respect, that meant Phil trusting that he knew what he was doing and wouldn't do anything to ever hurt his family. Not just the words and occasional looks of contrition.

Phil had trust issues, and he was irrationally paranoid. It was one of the reasons he regularly met with Dr. Bliss. Arnold missed talking things out with him himself, though. He hadn't felt that closeness to Phil for too long. He missed the surprise hugs and sincere, secret smiles. It had always been frustrating to get him to open up to him, like trying to pull a tree out of the dirt with your bare hands, but the end result had always been rewarding. Nowadays, the only people he ever spoke with like that were Helga and his therapist.

He was growing up, and becoming more distant with each passing month.

Arnold hated it.

Phil's arms suddenly tightened up again, and his face cast down, eyes reflecting back the same hollow frustration Arnold was suddenly feeling in droves. That frustration was cleared away by Phil's next words, "Some girls were bugging me today."

Arnold was hit with a sudden burst of deja-vu.

He must have twitched or something, because Phil braced himself and went on at a fast pace, "This girl who called herself Lee Breeze cornered me in the lunch line and tried to possess my soul with cheap pickup lines and bad acting. When I ignored her, she and her friend started throwing stuff at me and following me around trying to get me to lose my head."

Arnold's eyes were wide. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." His eyes remained glued to the floor. His tongue made a small bump in his cheek, as his eyes drifted back over to the plant.

Several things clicked into place in Arnold's head. The girls, Olga's visit, the matchmaking... Slowly, his face fell into wary understanding. "Oh."

Phil jerked his head to the sky and still refused to meet his eyes, looking uncomfortable enough that Arnold wanted to hug him. "I'm sorry, I know it's stupid—"

"Triggers are not stupid, Phil," Arnold muttered patiently, thinking, considering the situation through new eyes.

Phil sighed harshly and tried to dig out his eyeballs with the heels of his thumbs. "But I'm over it. I've _been_ over it. It shouldn't make me act like this anymore." He rubbed his eyes more vigorously. "Stupid, evil witch—"

Arnold started; he reached over and nabbed his wrists, gently prying them from his eyes, and smiled warmly at his son when his eyes popped open. "Really, I think you are over it. You just have a natural impulse to protect your sister. That's not foolish. Was there a better way to honor that impulse? _Yes_." He gave him a particularly firm look. Then it gentled. "But there's nothing wrong with loving someone or wanting to protect them."

Phil's face was dry, blank. "You're sounding like an after school special again, Dad."

"That's fine." He swept the hair from Phil's eyes, and felt a warmth wash over him at the startled look in those eyes, wide and green and honest. "You know I love you, Phil?"

"Unless you want to become intimately acquainted with my stomach acid, you'll stop talking now."

"I'll take that as a yes." He pecked him on the forehead and sat back, releasing him. He stood and patted down his plaid shirt, ready to return. "You're gonna apologize to Chris, and you'll be raking leaves and shoveling snow for the next two weeks to pay for the tires you damaged."

Phil's groan was explosive. "Aw, come on, I only did that 'cause I thought you were matchmaking! It was purely defensive!"

Arnold deadpanned, "And that's the only reason I'm not punishing you for a month." Arnold patted his cheek as he passed him on the way to the door. "You have to learn to trust me. If you have concerns about something I'm doing, talk to me. Don't take it out on my _car_." He rolled his eyes.

He heard Phil groan again behind him, sounding to be about mid-death throes now, and had to struggle not to laugh. Placing one hand on the door handle, he turned to Phil and raised an eyebrow. "Ready?"

Phil took the hands off his throat and slunk slumped over to the door. Arnold took that as a yes and opened the door, but just as Phil was about to slink inside, he stopped and said, "I'll try here, but you know how effective my apologizing usually is—So once I'm done, I think I'll head over to the community center."

Arnold blinked down at him, bemused. "The community center? What for?"

Phil flicked his eyes up to him, eyebrows furrowed, as if offended he was even asking. "I just know this isn't gonna end well, so it'd be best if I left—"

"No, why would you go to the community center?"

Phil was looking at him like he'd grown a second head. "For my saxophone lessons... Willy won't mind if I show up early—"

Arnold blinked, his eyes wide. "You're taking saxophone again? I didn't know that."

Phil's weirded look cleared to the default half-lidded eyes, and he smiled, just slightly. Nearly laughing, he huffed, "Oh. Really? I told Mom." With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he walked inside. Arnold watched him go speechlessly, breathing a little too quickly again.

Really was cold out this January.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye then, and looked over to see someone in a large, well-tailored coat step out of the yurt. It was surrounded by flowers at the far back of the yard; and it was not a big yard, certainly not big enough that any part of his and Phil's conversation could be misheard from any location within it. Arnold knew who it was before the figure even turned around, and was mildly surprised to see him, but any words he might have spoken died in his throat when Bob met his eyes. It was with the usual gruff expression, no hint of emotion allowed to the surface, but lacking its usual intimidation. He leaned on a thick cane and watched him, simply, without greeting.

Arnold stared back a while, his own face blank, before tilting his head subtly down in acknowledgement, and walking inside the house.

Bob looked down as the door pulled shut.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck do you mean Phil left?"<p>

The sound of a roaring start. That right there.

Arnold swept a few stray locks of hair out of his face and sighed, leaning suspended on one hand on the kitchen counter. Helga stood across the room, frozen in the process of stacking freshly prepared finger sandwiches on a plate as she stared with unsettling intensity at him.

Phil's apology had been about as awkward and mind-melting as Phil had predicted it was going to be—which, Arnold thought, was probably why it ended up being that way. Phil really had no faith in his ability to be a nice person, and it showed in the twitching and half-glaring as he'd grated his way through, "I'm sorry for calling you stupid even though you are stupid—" a tight hand landed on his shoulder, "_I mean_, it's not like you can help it," the hand tightened, "Amongst your own age group, who knows? Comparatively, you could be Einstein, what do I know—I mean, I know the chances of that are like one in five kerfillion, but—" Arnold all but crushed his shoulder, "Speaking of Albert, did you know he hated school? Because the system is dedicated to turning knowledge not into a pursuit but a chore to be rewarded with soulless marker scribbles? And we're legally bound to attend and have the heart of all curiosity and joy crushed out of us or face having our guardians get thrown into jail for our disobedience? Really, it makes perfect sense that you hate it. I hate it, too, and I'm actually smart. We should start a protest."

By that point, Phil's heading to the community center was no longer a choice.

Arnold took a moment to identify the source of his wife's anger before beginning, "I talked to him about why he was acting out and punished him. When he gets back, you can punish him, too, if you'd like. He said he was just... having some bad flashbacks thanks to these girls at his school bugging him. He was on edge. He lashed out. We... both agreed it'd be best if he left for a while." Hoping to deflect some of the hot growing alarm in Helga's eyes, he commented mildly, "I'll also be interested to hear later why I wasn't told he'd started saxophone lessons again."

It worked. Some of the heat drained from Helga's eyes as she rolled them up and then down to focus back on the sandwiches. "It was a recent thing, Arnold, don't get all bent out of shape about it. I've had a lot on my mind lately." Wheeling around suddenly, she walked over to him and shoved a finger sandwich into his hand. "Now here, tell me this tastes delicious. You can tell me about these girls while you eat."

Arnold eyed the sandwich warily, and Helga snorted. "Oh, for Pete's sake," she exclaimed. "It's a sandwich the size of my palm. I'm not that hopeless in the kitchen. Would you just shove it in your head already?"

It was Arnold's turn to roll his eyes this time. He examined the sandwich a bit more, held it at eye-level, fiddled with the bread as he said, "I don't understand why you insist on these pissing competitions every time Olga comes to visit." Despite his words, he obediently placed the sandwich in his mouth – the whole thing, demonstrating his faith in her – and began to chew. A moment later, he stopped, blinked, and started chewing again. He hummed, "This is actually pretty good."

"Oh, how I blush," Helga drawled sarcastically. "Now, about those girls?"

Arnold scratched at the base of his jaw as he swallowed. "He didn't say much about it. But then, I got the impression there wasn't really much to tell. Enough to rattle him. Apparently someone named Lee Breeze flirted with him and when he ignored her, she became hostile."

Helga went very still. "Lee... Lee as in Beverley?"

Arnold looked at her curiously. "I don't know."

He didn't bother to ask why; he knew Helga telling him was an inevitable outcome. He was surprised to see her pause and pull her phone out of her pocket, though. She spoke as her fingers glided, tapping along the keyboard, "You remember Summer Breeze, I trust?"

"Who?"

The tapping ceased. "Summer... That platinum blonde bimbo you got all dopy about at the beach when we were kids?"

Arnold's face and mind remained blank for all of five seconds, as Helga watched him almost cautiously over the glow of her cellphone, until finally a foggy recollection creeped into the edge of his consciousness. His eyes slowly widened. "Wait... You still remember that?" One invisible eyebrow went flying, and he almost felt the compulsion to laugh. He didn't know why he was surprised. His voice went high in his incredulity, "How do you know her last name? I didn't even know her last name."

Helga's eyes narrowed, looking impossibly blue in the luminous aqua light directly below her face. "Uh, because I've been tracking her, donkey brain. The slut moved back to Hillwood recently, not too far from us. And, surprise surprise, she apparently has a daughter, because who else's kid is gonna go around telling people her last name is Breeze?" She snorted several times, decorously, before going back to tapping away on her phone.

Sliding his hands to his hips, he leaned back and took a moment to process this. "You don't think Breeze is her real last name," he concluded.

"Of course not," Helga said impatiently. "Summer Breeze? Gimme a break. It's a stage name, obviously."

"Wait, wait," Arnold waved a hand, placing the other on his brow as he clenched his eyes shut, questions overwhelming, "you asked me if her name was Beverley. Why would you ask that if you didn't know—"

Helga suddenly threw herself in his space, and he dropped his hand in surprise. She fluttered her eyelashes not five inches away, smiled seductively and said at breakneck speed, "So I did some covert work before we left the beach that week and found out her mother's name was Beverley, it was pure curiosity, now stop analyzing every detail of my wordage and look at this." She dropped the phone into his hand.

Arnold blinked several times, trying to gain back his equilibrium after she backed away from him. He took a breath, decided he probably didn't want to know, and looked down at the phone.

It was Summer Breeze's IMDb page. He blinked again, straining his eyes to focus and understand exactly what he was looking at. The picture portrayed a sexy smiling blonde in black spaghetti straps, her hair falling in bouncy curls around her shoulders, skin gold and radiant, eyes sparkling sultrily at the camera... "Ohhhh," Arnold drew out as he examined the picture, amused, "I remember Summer now."

The phone was snatched from his hand the next second, and Arnold's eyes were bright with hilarity as Helga hastily scrolled the page down and shoved it in his face again. He squinted and saw that it was a list of TV shows, movies and commercials—a pretty impressive one, in fact. Helga spoke hastily, a hand spinning through the air, "She's an actress. Fairly popular. No Marilyn Monroe, but she's got the typical fan base of mindless sore wrists going. I did some research on her when I heard she'd moved back, and found a whole trove of whiny teenage gossip forums _and_ some actual _proof_ that she's been-been sleeping with producers to get good parts and then dumping them as soon as the role's over! She's been doing it for years, apparently, I know you're shocked."

Arnold stared at the phone another second before pushing it out of his face. "What does this have to do with anything? I mean, it's, uh, interesting, I guess-"

Helga clicked her phone off and shoved it in her pocket, glaring at him for his confusion. "Didn't you hear me? She's moved to Hillwood again—Why would she do that? Hillwood's full of nothing but old, crazy people, backwoods hill billies, suicidal cubical men, and muggers. We have nothing to offer an actress on the hunt for fame and fortune..." She raised an eyebrow, slowly, deliberately. "Do we?"

Arnold hummed, catching on. Just to make sure, though, he asked, feigning innocence, "No?"

Helga saw through him. A brilliant smile sprung across her face, and she slapped his arm admonishingly. "Leave the acting to the professionals, sweetheart. It's the exact same reason Olga's here, I'd bet every dime I have on it. We'll be 'running into her by pure happenstance' any day now."

Arnold smiled faintly. Stepping around her, he plucked another sandwich up from the plate and took a neat bite. His back to her, he asked mildly, "You sure she didn't just realize what a huge mistake she made all those years ago and isn't looking to win me back?"

A hand suddenly slammed down on his crotch. Arnold positively jumped, mustard shooting out of his sandwich and splattering against the counter. Helga whispered hotly in his ear, "You really ought to stop provoking my jealousy. It's a fruitless effort, we both know—your dick is mine."

Arnold swallowed the squeak in his throat and forced himself to relax. "Helga," he scolded, effortlessly sweeping her hand aside. He finished off his sandwich and willed his blush away as Helga cackled behind him.

"Oh, man," her laughter spiked, "it just hit me. Your ex-slut's daughter tried to put the moves on _our_ son. Only, only—" she wheezed hoarsely, falling against Arnold's back and slinging her arm around his shoulders for support as she cried into his back, "inst-instead of becoming a big ball of pathetic love goop like his hapless father, he gave her the-the old Phil frost bite shoulder and that pissed her off," her shoulders heaved, "_so-ho_ badly she threw a fucking _diva tantrum_." Painful laughter wracked her slight frame. "Oh, sweet creation, that is brilliant."

Arnold sighed long-sufferingly. "Helga..."

"Oh, G... Oh—Arnold, can't you _see_? This is it! This is why we had a kid with absolutely no romantic interest in anything! It was for _this moment_!" She gripped him tighter, fingernails digging into his shirt, and hissed against his shoulder blade, "Sweet justice."

Arnold's face was drawn and dryer than the dessert; eyes shut, face long. "You... really need to learn to let go of these things."

Helga made a wet noise behind him, and he felt her free hand come up to wipe something away. "Never," she croaked.

Without thinking, he protested, "You became friends with Lila."

"Li—Okay, first of all, Lila never crafted an elaborate ruse to break your heart and use you for her own personal gain." Her hand brushed lightly against his shirt a few times. He ignored what that likely meant as she went on, much calmer now, "Granted, she was a manipulative little bitch, but so was I at that age, hell. And _second_, when I first met Lila, I liked her just fine. The only reason I hated her later on was because you randomly decided you _liked her liked her_," she sweetly mocked, perching her chin on his shoulder and smiling when he glanced at her. "Once that was over, I found myself liking her again. Sue me." She rolled her eyes casually away. "Of course, none of that matters anymore since she shacked up with Arnie. Kinda hard to be friends with someone when they're constantly shadowed by tall, pasty and fish-eyed."

Arnold snorted. "I'll still never understand that."

"I know it's mean," she ignored the twitch in her husband's shoulders, "but I can't help but find it delicious. She was always all morally self-righteous and holier-than-thou about _everything_, even more than you were, for cripe's sake, and we all know that's saying something—and yet, _Arnie_ is what passes for perfection in her eyes? I'd say we dodged a bullet with that one." She hummed, her mouth flattening out in consideration. "Although, maybe it was worth it for the look on Olga's face at their wedding."

Arnold started to turn around, gently so that she had time to move away. Once they were facing again, he smiled and pulled her closer. "I still say you need to learn to let things go. We knew Summer twenty years ago. A lot has changed. She could be a completely different person now."

Helga was unconvinced. "Did you miss the part where she's been whoring her way to the top all this time? A lot may have changed, dear, but the seasons are ever fixed."

"She's a mother, Helga," Arnold said softly. "Kids change people. You can't deny that."

Helga sighed and pushed away from him to pick up the plate of sandwiches. "Not everyone," she reminded. With a deep inhale that made her shoulders rise up, she turned a blindingly evil smile on him. "Now I'd better get back out there with these before they resort to cannibalism out there," she said, happy to change the subject. "You mind making some hot chocolate? The tea in this house tastes like leaves."

Arnold smirked. "Sure."

Helga pecked him on the cheek in thanks and left the kitchen. Just as Arnold was putting the kettle on, he heard Helga's voice carry with the words, "Well, hey, jackass, I see you've decided to grace us with your sparkling presence once more!" Arnold snorted and went in search of cocoa powder.

Just as he was pulling it down from the top shelf, Zack walked in. Zack's tired eyes took note of the container in his hand and the kettle on the stove before breaking out in a grin. "Hot cocoa?"

Arnold sat the cocoa down pointedly and turned around with one hand on the counter, the other on his hip. The look he gave him reminded Zack very quickly that his dad wasn't happy with him and the grin faltered. "Uh," Zack started, bemused, "would it make things better if I told you I left on assignment?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow, but otherwise, his face remained unchanged, eyes still half-mast, mouth still tilted down. Zack specified, "A _school_ assignment," but Arnold didn't budge.

Zack sighed, as if Arnold was the difficult teenager, and bounded over to pat him on the shoulder. "My partner will be here any minute, Pop. If you don't want to scare her off, you might want to wipe that look off your face." Half his eyebrow went up in an approximation of his dad's expression. "You don't want to be the one responsible for me getting an F, do you?" He glanced at the container again. "Or dying from chocolate deprivation?"

Arnold shut his eyes, and brought a hand up to slowly, methodically, rub the bridge of his nose. Zack took this as a victory and burst into chuckles. "Aw, Dad," he laughed, wrapping his arms around him in a hug, patting him on the back. Arnold just shook his head and didn't reply.

Finally, when Zack stopped laughing and just stood there, arms surrounding him, Arnold said, "You're all going to be the death of me."

Zack gave him another pat. "Maybe, but it'll be a happy death, yeah?"

That got Arnold to uncoil. He sighed and lifted his arms around Zack's back. "You can't run out without telling anyone where you're going or what you're doing. Least of all when your Aunt flew halfway across the country just to visit us. That was rude, inconsiderate, and unsafe."

"So it was the Helga thing to do," Zack said, his voice very understanding, very joking. "Be more Arnold?"

Arnold gave his back a light slap and pushed away. "Be more _Zack_," he corrected, sternly. "You're better than this."

Zack's amused smile softened into something slightly more sincere. "Calm down, Dad, I knew Olga wouldn't mind. I wasn't even gone an hour." He scratched at his nose. "Besides, you guys have this whole tutoring thing going on today, I thought I might as well find something to keep me occupied."

Arnold's eyes narrowed. "And all that makes this okay _how_—"

The doorbell rang. Both their heads jerked in the direction of the front door, and when they slowly met each other's eyes again, Zack was grinning. "That'll be my partner," he said smugly, but before he could make a move to go answer the door, Olga's voice rang out throughout the house with a pretty, "I'll get it!"

Zack nearly jumped. "Wait, those two in the same room? This I've gotta see—"

He had whirled around and was already hot footing it for the door, but Arnold grabbed him by his sleeve and stopped him in his tracks. Arnold gave him a firm look. "Tell someone where you're going next time," Arnold murmured. "Don't be so impulsive. You're only sixteen, and you may think you know everything, but you don't. We're your parents and your safety is of the utmost importance to us. Do you understand?"

Zack was smiling and rolling his eyes before he'd even finished talking, and Arnold was a second away from going full judge and jury on his insubordinate ass when Olga walked in, looking about as baffled as he'd ever seen her. She blinked several times at the both of them before saying, "Zack, your... wife is here?"

And that's when Pam skipped in, looking like she'd just stepped out of a bad 50s sitcom. The deep red strands of hair that typically fell into her face were combed back and pinned out of the way, a big yellow daisy sat behind her ear, her tennis shoes were traded out for black heels, and her jacket and capris were nowhere to be seen, replaced with a red polka dot shirtwaist dress, complete with belt, flared skirt and matching gloves. A string of pearls hung around her throat to complete the look.

Zack's jaw unhinged. Arnold's arm fell and swung forgotten at his side. Olga was still blinking in puzzlement. They all stared.

Pam just beamed at everyone before turning to Olga. "Thank you ever so much for letting me in, Mrs. Pataki. Zackums would've left me out on the stoop all day if he could." She wrinkled her nose delicately and whipped a playful hand in Zack's direction, shooting him a quick, chiding glance. "Oh, and may I just say again that it is _so_ wonderful to finally meet you."

"Zachary's..." Olga uttered faintly, sounding vaguely out of body as she continued to blink, "talked about me?"

Pam broke into giggles and jerked a thumb in Zack's direction. "Who, this wise guy? Oh, no, he only ever opens his mouth to rant about Nascar, gas prices and NASA staging the moon landing. He never tells me anything personal. No, I used to see your shows all the time when I was a little girl. You're Olga Pataki, broadway star! Of course I know you."

"Ohhhh," Olga cooed, suddenly fully animated once again with eyes bright and dark. She clasped her hands together in front her chest and grinned. "Well, aren't you a sweetheart. It's always so lovely to meet a fan. I..." and here she faltered, her face falling again, just slightly, along with her hands which now fell below her waist, "Pardon me, but it was my understanding that Zachary was still with Sophie."

Pam gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth in shock. It fell only to say, "Has he been telling people that again? Oh, dear me. My poor Zackums." She skipped over to grab him into a bear hug, pulling him down to her height so she could wrap his stunned body more securely in her arms. She turned, uncaring of how he had to stumble to keep from falling flat on his face, and stage-whispered to Olga over his head, "Sophie died last year. Horrible whaling accident. Zacky still has denial issues. It's been very difficult for us." Zack snorted at that and opened his mouth to speak, but Pam cut him off with a tut-tut-tut and crushed him tighter in her arms, making sure to be extra obnoxious about it. "Baby, did you forget to take your meds again?"

That was it. Zack burst into laughter and pushed out of her rapidly slackening arms. "Oh, no, no, no, I see what you're doing." Looking to Olga, he said, "This is Pam, she's my English partner for a marriage project due in a week. She likes to push my buttons." He turned a cocky smirk on Pam and got down into her face to properly mock, "Or at least _try_ to."

Arnold spotted something very familiar flashing in Pam's eyes, but it was gone the next second and replaced with a sorrowful look. She shook her head pitifully. "Oh, you poor thing, you really are having another one of your spells, aren't you?" She tilted her head apologetically towards Olga, sending flickering intermittent glances at Arnold. "Would you mind terribly if we had a little privacy? Once he's lucid again, he's going to be so embarrassed."

"Oh," Olga laughed in a high pitch, placing a hand over her heart in relief. "I—Of course, I—"

Zack was caught with disbelief. He placed his hands on his hips. "Did you really believe Pam and I were married? We're sixteen, we're barely allowed to drive."

Olga blinked, yet again, eyes deer wide. Then she laughed again, softer this time, more calm. "This is going to sound so silly, but I know the marriage laws in the San Lorenzo Green Eyed community are much more, ahm, relaxed than they are in the US. Did you know they married your mom and dad when they were only ten years old?"

Zack and Pam whipped their heads around to gawk at Arnold. He flushed slightly and ran a hand over his eyes. "It didn't count. We had no idea it was happening."

"Be that as it may," Olga went on in a sparkling voice, underlined with warm amusement, "I've heard a lot of stories about you, Zachary. I know the way you tend to act around pretty young ladies—"

"You thought I would _elope_?"

"And also," Olga went on despite his outcry, giving Pam an odd look, "ah, Pam, was it? You bear a striking resemblance with an old friend of mine—a very sweet and honest friend of mine. It didn't even occur to me to question you at first. Though it was terribly confusing." She giggled against her palm.

Pam smiled and fell into Zack's side, startling him. "I'm afraid the fault lies with me there. I just have one of those naturally sweet and honest faces." She turned to flutter her lashes at Zack. "Isn't that right, Zacky-Whacky?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow above wide eyes and stepped around to get a better look at his son's face. His eyes widened further at the blank speechlessness he found there. He'd seen Zack speechless a handful of times in his life; and angry an even smaller amount, for that matter. Pam had a very peculiar effect, an ongoing one that Arnold could no longer hope was an anomaly. He knew Zack said they'd become friends and everything was fine now, but she still obviously struck a cord in him if he was at a loss for words now. Arnold wasn't sure how he felt about witnessing it again. Currently he was just shocked, a little worried, and then relieved when Zack snapped out of it with a scoffing laugh, briefly catching his eyes with a smile full of 'Can you believe this?' before turning his eyes on Pam, his eyelids falling.

"Certainly, Pookie," Zack cooed disgustingly and wrapped her in a side-hug, effectively breaking Pam out of character as a small frown appeared on her face. Held together like that, Zack faced Olga again with an aching grin and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't want to get you in on our crazy family drama right away, but I guess there's just no hiding it." He sighed. "Here it goes. The day after Sophie's accident, Pam swooped in like-like I don't even know. A superhero. First I was crying on her shoulder, next we were boarding a plane to Central America—I still can't explain exactly how it happened – the memory's all a blur – but here we are! Happily married almost a full year later, and I think that's explanation enough. It's funny how love works, isn't it?" His expression changed abruptly into one of blazing desperation and he leaned forward with a jerk, whispering loudly, "She locks me in the basement at night and feeds me the leftover sticks from her lollypops, help!" He then threw himself back and hugged Pam to himself, giving her a good cuddle. While Pam was stiff and trying to figure out how to get out of this, Zack mouthed to Olga, "Call 9-1-1," and waved an invisible phone by his ear.

Olga laughed out loud, Arnold put a hand to his mouth in a sad attempt to mask his own chuckle, and Pam harrumphed and broke free of his arms. "I do no such thing," she said, trying to turn things back around in her favor. Zack shook his head, though, and patted her on the stomach suddenly, smiling wide. "And would you look at that beautiful baby bump there—not even twenty yet and well on our way to being parents. Crazy."

Pam looked down at the small pouch of fat she'd managed to foster in the last year, and then back up at Zack. Then back down. Then finally – slowly – back up, her eyes in tiny slits. "Oh, it is on like a sumo at a goddamn buffet," she whispered fiercely. Zack smirked viciously.

Arnold could spot a fire hazard from twenty miles off, and right now he was being practically blinded by one. Swiftly, before any toasters could get tossed, he threw himself between the two and pushed them a safe distance away from each other. "Okay, game's over," he announced sternly, doing his best to ignore the unchecked laughter still pouring from Olga's mouth. "Let's all just calm down."

"But, Mr. Shortman, he made a fat joke," Pam objected. "You've got to let me finish him off."

"Yeah, Dad, she's gotta finish me off," Zack whined childishly, stamping his foot a little and bouncing up and down. Pam shot him a glare and looked about to yell something back, but Arnold intercepted.

"No, no, no, no finishing. I think we've all been sufficiently embarrassed. I—" The kettle started to steadily whistle. Arnold looked back at it. "That. I've got drinks to make and a child to tutor. I need to know you two are going to act your age so long as you're together. I don't want to hear anymore fights."

"Well, we might as well file for divorce right now then," Zack declared, spinning slowly on his heel with a defeated wave of his hand, his other on his hip.

Pam placed a hand on Arnold's shoulder and smiled when he looked down at her. "Your son is a very difficult person, sir, I just wanted to pay him back for some of the trouble he's caused me today. I didn't mean to add onto your stress. I apologize."

Arnold offered her a tired smile and patted her hand. Meanwhile Zack had turned back, scratching his neck, and gave her a strange look. Arnold said, "That's all right, Pam. It's actually... kind of refreshing to see Zack get a taste of his own medicine for once." He cocked an eyebrow at his oldest. Zack's eyes darted to it and his previously flat mouth stretched into a grin. Arnold sighed and gave Pam's hand a couple more quick pats, and turned to the kettle when her hand retracted.

Meanwhile Olga was still laughing. Not her usual silvery titter, but full-blown, honest to God laughter. Zack didn't find this too strange, and Arnold had seen similar displays from his sister-in-law before so he as well could easily disregard it and work on making the drinks, but Pam was flustered as hell now that she didn't have to fight to keep in character. Blushing brighter than her hair, she leaned over and whisper-screamed at Zack, "You didn't mention that your aunt was _Olga Pataki._"

Zack looked at her curiously. "I didn't think it mattered."

"Of course you didn't," she complained, distressed. "Because your mom is a best-selling author, your Uncle Hyunh or whatever is a retired country star, your Grandma and Grandpa are renowned explorers, and your aunt is a famous broadway actress. You probably don't even think about it." She chuckled a little desperately and plucked the flower from her hair, ripping it apart in her hands. "And what the hell is San Lorenzo, Green Eyes, what—"

"It's a republic in Central America, and the Green Eyes are one of its main inhabitants. My dad's San Lorenzo's ambassador," Zack stated plainly, like he'd had to give the same explanation a hundred times before.

"Your dad's an _ambassador_?" she whisper-screamed even louder than before, and Arnold turned around with a tray of hot chocolate and a wide smile.

"Take one," he said, walking over to offer up the tray to them. Zack grinned and eagerly grabbed a bright blue cup with snowflakes and Pam gingerly plucked a lighter blue one with a snowman.

"I feel betrayed," Pam said playfully, despite the disconcertion still plain on her face as she looked at Arnold. "Thanks for the cocoa, Mr. Shortman, but still—I thought you were one of the only normal ones, a humble teacher who just so happened to come home to a crazy family every day, and here all this time you've been a diplomat to some foreign place I've never even heard of? How could you?" A delicious whiff of thick warm chocolate slammed her in the face suddenly and her breath caught. She took a quick gulp, hissed as the hot liquid scorched her mouth and all the way down her throat, and waved a rabid hand to try to fan the heat away from her tongue. Zack choked out a laugh beside her, but she ignored him.

Arnold's smile remained, wide and relaxed on his face as he pulled the tray back, and Pam's eyes widened slightly at how much he looked like Zack right then. He sat the tray down on the island and walked over to the cupboard. As he turned around with a cup, he shrugged and replied, "The Green Eyes are very fond of me, and the natives in nearby villages impressed that they're even willing to talk to me, let alone welcome me into their city. They wouldn't accept anyone else. I fly down to represent them on occasion, at least once a month, but otherwise it's a pretty quiet job." As he was speaking, he'd flipped the faucet on and filled the glass with water, and as he concluded, walked over to hand it to her. Pam eagerly grabbed it and, sitting the cocoa on the counter behind her, took long, chugging gulps, tears catching in the corner of her eyes. Zack blew gently over the top of his own cocoa before taking a small sip, smiling smugly as he swished it around in his mouth.

Olga had finally started to calm down, and asked over her breathy giggling, "Did you really see my shows when you were a little girl?"

Pam blushed again at the direct address and coughed a little on the water, pounding a fist against her chest. She smiled sheepishly and nodded. "My dad has connections. My favorite was your modernized rendition of _Rats_. It was the first show I ever got to see, and I still know all the songs by heart."

"Really?" Olga chuckled, eyes warm and shining with amusement. "That's my sister's favorite, too. Although for vastly different reasons, I hope." She walked over and looked at her imploringly.

Pam smiled, starstruck. "Nibble, nibble, nibble, nibble," she started to sing in a surprisingly pleasant voice, if a little hesitant and breathy with excitement, "underneath the grimy street. What a dreary kibble life is, what a bitter dish, defeat."

Olga laughed again and eagerly joined in, "The rodent's life is pain, impotent and inane—There's only one thing worse than cats—"

"Rats," they sang in harmony, "we're rats! We're maudlin and repressed! We live in sewers, love in sewers, that's why we're so depressed!"

"Oh my God," Zack gasped, taking a quick sip as he raised his index finger in the air and turned to bid a hasty exit. "Geekfest! I must escape!"

But Pam and Olga each caught him by an arm and jerked him back, hooking him in place as they sang in his ears, "And oh, the pain, we need to share with you! And in three hours, you're gonna feel it too!"

"Cruel and unusual," Zack started, but was interrupted with a loud burst of, "Ohhh, rats! Rats, rats, rats!" The two broke into laughter right over his head, Zack rolled his eyes and downed as much of his hot chocolate as possible, and Arnold chuckled at the entire situation.

Helga's voice cut in, shouting and far off, "What the heck's going on in there?"

"Oh!" Olga abruptly let go of Zack's arm and placed a hand on her cheek. "In all the excitement, I nearly forgot about Chris!" She grabbed Arnold by the forearm and began pulling him towards the exit. Arnold grabbed the tray as he was pulled past the island, and Olga smiled apologetically at Pam over his shoulder, "It was wonderful to meet you, Pam! I hope we can talk again very soon!"

"Yeah," Pam only just got out before the two were gone, their feet audibly shuffling up the hall. Alone like that now, Pam looked around, then down at Zack where she still had his arm hooked with her's. At a loss for anything else to do, she let go and swept her hands along her ponytail. Zack slunk slowly down to the floor, carefully cradling his mug, and took another slow, deliberate sip as he looked up at her from under a half-arched eyebrow.

Pam found herself flustered all over again, and hated herself for it. "So," she said awkwardly.

Zack just blinked and took another sip of his drink. "Where'd you get that outfit?"

Pam stared at him, wide-eyed, relieved he didn't seem the least bit concerned with her singing, and then a little offended he didn't deem it worthy of a reaction. She shook herself of the ridiculous emotions and replied, happy that her voice sounded strong and relatively unruffled, "I dropped by Sophie's. Her mom has all sorts of clothes just lying around gathering dust, and I knew there had to be at least one that would embarrass you." She smirked and grabbed fistfuls of her dress, striking a pretty, cliche pose with her legs. "Don't think I'm done, either, I plan on giving your family material to tease you for months."

"No kidding." Zack grinned, unafraid. "I wonder if Mr. Carpenter's got a matching suit. What do you wanna bet if we walked into class like that we'd get an A plus on the spot?" He gave a loud hum suddenly and sat his cup in his lap, looking at her a little queerly. "Hey, wait. I didn't know you and Sophie were friends. When did that happen?"

Pam's eyes narrowed. "Back in the good old days, shortly before I met you. She was handing out flyers."

"Ah." He bobbed his head, accepting this.

Pam was deeply irritated now. She had been sure this would have him blue in the face, but he looked totally chill. It must be the chocolate. There was no other explanation for him not being an asshole. And then she remembered that he _was_ an asshole and her arms crossed, her face going red again. "I can't believe you made a fat joke," she huffed. "I can't believe I'm even surprised."

Zack was calm. "Whaling accident," he said. "Fair's fair."

"Oh, please. Sophie knew I was gonna make that joke before I even got over here. She laughed."

Zack just shook his head. "You can't murder a guy's girlfriend without some repercussions." He swished the last bit of his hot cocoa around in his cup before throwing it back and humming contentedly.

Definitely the chocolate. Pam shook her head with a small sigh, resigned, and turned to pick up her own mug and blow cautiously over it, wary of burning off anymore taste buds. A shadow fell over her then and a deep voice asked in her ear, as a finger came down on the opposite side of her head to point at her mug, "You gonna drink that?"

Pam elbowed him back and spun around to glare at his stumbling body. "Don't even think about it, Sasquatch."

He was frowning at long last, looking at her like she was a stranger standing in his kitchen as he rubbed at where her elbow had made contact. Something flashed in his eyes and he opened his mouth to take a loud breath and say something, but then seemed to think better of it and clamped it back shut. He complained, "What happened to that bag of lollypops I got for you? How much sugar does one person need?"

"As much as possible," Pam declared, and took a pointed, greedy gulp of her warm cocoa. And then she stopped, because _holy shit_ this was good. Blinking wildly, she gulped half the cup down and wiped her mouth with a blissful pant.

Zack seemed begrudgingly amused by this. After a moment of reluctance, he quietly divulged, "My dad has a passion for hot chocolate. He's spent years perfecting his recipe."

Pam took a lingering sip, her eyes falling closed at the taste. She nodded at his explanation of Olympus. "Good man."

When she opened her eyes, he was looking away. Blinking, she shrugged it off and happily nursed her cup, finding it next to impossible to be angry herself now. Which, really, particularly in Zack's company, that was a miracle. Her mouth twitched at the thought. "You know, about our project," she started, feeling curiously neutral and blank all of a sudden, "how are we supposed to get anything done for that if we're busy trying to dig up dirt on your little brother?" She sipped her drink.

Zack actually looked surprised at this. "Marriage is all about working together through the random hustle-and-bustle of the every day, isn't it? Being good partners, not killing each other?" He raised his eyebrow. "Two birds, one stone."

Pam cocked a brow at that. "This is every day for you?"

"What? Revenge?" Zack thought that over. "Yeah. But not in the way you're thinking. I don't usually go out of my way to get dirt on anyone. Most people just confess all their secrets to me within the first forty eight hours of knowing me. Otherwise I just wait for them to do something really embarrassing."

Pam blinked, feeling disgust floating somewhere outside the haze of chocolate. "And you use that to blackmail them..."

Zack shrugged. "Only if it's necessary. It rarely is, but it does come up. I just like knowing the option is there. You can never know with people. Case in point: Phil." For a second, he looked almost grim, but the look was swapped out for a wide smile quickly enough it was easily overlooked. "He's just forgotten who it is he's dealing with. All he needs is a little reminder to put him back in his place and we can all move on and put this whole unfortunate experience behind us."

Pam eyed him. "You are a seriously warped individual."

"You say the sweetest things, darling."

Pam shook her head, but was enjoying her sugar-high too much to argue further on the subject. She was kinda sick of standing around in the kitchen with him, even if it was a really nice kitchen, and wanted to move along the proceedings so she could get home as soon as possible for a good, long nap (and to get in some fighting with her mom and brother). She looked around, enjoying the warm walnut cabinets and white marble countertops as she casually said, "Yeah, you never told me what exactly your plan was in dragging me here. What's first on the pointless revenge agenda?"

Zack's smirk was sinful when she looked back. He chuckled darkly, sending a frisson of alarm up her neck, and he took his time in shaking his head. "You just met her." His smirk morphed into a lopsided grin.

* * *

><p><strong>Two Years in the Past<strong>

"A _campfire lass?_"

The exclamation carried from the bottom of the stairs and into the room, echoing off the stairwell. Helga blinked in surprise and turned from where she'd been shuffling in the closet. The closet door was partially closed, and she stepped over to peek out. There was a furious _shushing_, sounding closer than before as footsteps pounded quietly up the stairs, and Helga bit down a gasp. She grabbed the closet door and pulled it fully closed, clicking the lock with a panicked jerk of her wrist. Assured of her privacy, she turned and quickly placed the birthday present she'd come up here to hide on the highest shelf, where Phil would never be able to reach it, and placed a few shoeboxes around to conceal it. Amanda stared at her, crooked in her arm against her side and sucking her thumb in consternation. Helga placed a finger erect over her lips and looked at her sternly.

Phil's voice was a scratchy muffle through the door. "Keep it down, bozo, if Mom and Dad hear I'm toast."

If Helga was a dog, her ears would have perked up. Just as well, her eyes went wide and she silently plastered herself against the door to listen more closely. A second passed before she realized what she was doing, and she huffed and slapped a hand over her eyes, scrubbing over them. Eavesdropping in a closet. She was eavesdropping in a closet. Goddamnit.

She felt a heavy stare and suddenly lowered her hand to meet Amanda's wide, accusing look. Helga blinked and issued a soft glare. Amanda's lips curled up.

While Helga was exchanging faces with Faith and being a terrible role model, Josh's voice came, just as alarmed but quieter, "Obviously. Just last week, Mom said the next campfire lass that showed up on our doorstep was gonna 'get her butt kicked into the next edition of milk cartons.' " Helga's eyes narrowed at the crude voice impression.

A groan. "I heard."

"And Dad can't even look at chocolate turtles without his face turning green. He complains about their accents every time someone brings them up. Dad doesn't hate _anyone_, Phil, but he comes really close to hating campfire lasses. That's _really saying something_."

"I know!" Frustrated impatience. A short scuffle.

Josh responded in kind, as a quiet, "Oof," rang out, "Then choose someone else! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? What's wrong with you? This is the only girl in the whole school that doesn't hate my guts! She doesn't know _anything about me_, Josh."

"So, what? You can have a fresh slate and pretend to be somebody you're not?"

The sound of flesh smacking against flesh was heard very distinctly. "Of course not! Do you know me at all? Criminy. It's just nice to meet someone who doesn't automatically think I'm evil, that's all. This way I can show my nicer side."

"You have a nicer side?"

"Shut up."

"You're not making this anymore believable." A beat. "And stop hitting me! For Pete's sake. I'm on your side!"

That awful nasally tone Helga hated, "You're not making it anymore believable."

"Geez, sorry I don't want Mom and Dad freaking out on you. I'll try to be less considerate. Now what's her name?" There was a pause. "Tell me you got her name."

"I did! It's Sara."

"Sara...?"

"Sarina. But she said everyone calls her Sara."

"Sarina...?"

"Yes."

A slap pierced the air, and Helga could just imagine Josh's hand whipping against his forehead. "Do you have any idea how common that name is?"

"Yeah, okay, _Josh_."

"No, I'm not—It's just that if I'm gonna ask around about her so we can make a game plan, asking people if they know a 'Sara' might not..."

"Oh." Another pause. "Well, uh. She had dark hair, a... face, two ears, all her fingers—"

"Defining features, Phil."

"She had purple eyes."

"...Seriously?"

"Yeah. Well, they were really pale. Maybe more of a lavender. I don't know, I'm not a color person."

"People don't have purple eyes, Phil."

"Oh, and they do have football heads? Don't get on my case, you geometric abnormality."

"...Right." She heard him inhale deeply. "Okay, purple eyes. I can definitely work with that. I'll ask some people about her tomorrow, see what I can find."

"Whatever, just be discreet about it, ding-dong. The last thing we need is Dad finding out."

"Would you _stop_ with the name-calling?"

"Hey! I preach only the truth. Stop being a ding-dong and we'll talk."

"I could pound you."

"You could also shut up, but that's never gonna happen either, is it?"

Amanda burst into giggles. Helga cringed and tried to shush her, but her attempts only made Amanda's giggling more furious. With a start, Helga realized Josh and Phil had gone silent on the other side of the door, and sighed her resignation. The jig was up.

_For them_, she cackled mulishly. Mentally, that is.

Putting on her best take-no-prisoners, 'your ass is literally mine' expression of supreme momitude, she slowly opened the door. Amanda flew into another round of giggles at the boys' faces. They looked like they just got caught putting the beatdown on a koala bear. Helga raised a severe eyebrow.

All was silent for a long moment, save for Amanda's stifled laughter.

Then Phil flew into motion, and before Helga's eyes grabbed Josh, threw him down on the couch, snatched the remote, and flipped the couch into the wall. Josh yelped and yelled, a little muffled behind the wall, "You're dangerous with that thing! Hand it over!"

"Shhh!" Another slap.

Helga shared a look with Amanda. She walked over to stand beside where the couch would be, and leaned against the wall, hopping Amanda in her arms. "What's all this talk about campfire lasses and girls hating your guts? Is this about the curse?"

"You can't prove anything!" Phil's quiet voice shouted through the wall. After a loud, phlegmy scoff, the sounds of a struggle broke out.

Helga spoke over the sounds of glass-smashing, thumps and Amanda's laughter, "You found a campfire lass to replace your bully with and you're plotting to make her develop feelings for you—"

Just then the couch flipped back out, with Josh right-side up with a firm, triumphant smile, remote in his grasp, and Phil upside down, neck and spine bent at an awkward angle with his legs in the air. He took one look at Helga leaning against the wall, saw her move to straighten, and threw himself to the floor with a gasp so he could scramble to the opposite end of the couch and hide behind Josh. Peeking out from behind him, he gripped at his arms and muttered, "Don't kill me. I have a hostage."

Josh seemed less concerned with dying, and more concerned with sending exasperated looks at Phil and strange, curious ones at Helga. "What were you doing in the closet?"

Helga's brain did a flip. She took a quick, deep breath and gave him a withering look. "It's your father's closet, so by extension it's also mine. I think I should be allowed to explore it without being questioned. A better question would be why you two are having secret conversations about your parents behind their backs." She raised a sharp, parently eyebrow, then patted herself mentally on the back for being such a damn fine mom. Amanda just smiled and watched the two attentively.

Phil looked like he was about to put Josh in a headlock to further his hostage angle, but Josh must have sensed something because he elbowed him away. Phil stumbled back, scared, then swallowed and took a step forward, avoiding Helga's eyes.

"You know, the campfire lass thing doesn't even matter," he hedged, looking adorably flustered and Arnold-like, trying to be all calm and reasonable. Helga's heart melted a little but she made sure it didn't show on her face. Damn fine mom, indeed. "I ordered some candy from her, but I'm paying for it—It won't affect you at all, I promise! You and Dad won't ever even see the box. Or the girl! Don't be mad. It's fine. It probably won't even work out anyway, girls always end up hating me."

Helga tut-tutted him. "Oh, don't say things like that, sweetheart. Have a little faith."

Phil snapped his eyes to her and blinked. "Huh?"

"No, seriously, I've been holding her for half an hour now. Have a little Faith." She dropped Amanda into his arms, gave her neck a good crack, and ran her fingers through her hair to retie it into it's original ponytail. "Now. Phillip. I'm gonna avoid commenting on your girl problem just this once because... well, because I'm sick of beating the horse. Instead, I'd like to have a discussion—" Phil winced, knowing 'discussion' was one of his Mom's code words for yelling at him, "about the fact you think getting _engaged_ is gonna solve your 'problem.' " Her voice was rich with sarcasm.

Phil blinked again, and then once more because Amanda's hand slipped down from his forehead to fall in front of his eyes before landing on his cheek. He pursed his lips at her, cheerfully ignoring the fact Amanda was trying to wrap his head in her arms like an uncoordinated octopus. "Mom, I know her being a campfire lass isn't the greatest—"

Helga's eyes shot wide open at that, and Phil cowered, prepared for the 'discussion' to begin. "I don't care if the person you inevitably fall for is a campfire lass or a stinkin' lamp post so long as you're happy about it!" She closed her eyes a moment and, with a long sigh, abruptly calmed. "That's not what this is about. You are not ready for a relationship. You're an eight-year-old—" she caught his expression and rolled her eyes, "nine-year-old boy."

"You and Dad—" Phil tried to argue.

"Tried to date when we were ten and it was a complete disaster. Sure, it was cute for a while, but I was emotionally unstable and adept at making Arnold lose his shit. We fought more than we made up. Now, I have nothing against you experimenting, but don't do it because of some stupid curse." She let out a hoarse sigh and rubbed a palm over her eyes, mumbling, "Criminy, it's monkeynucleosis all over again—"

Phil cried, "Monkey what?"

"Nothing," Helga snapped, shooting him a sharp look of warning. "Darling, you still have regular temper tantrums. You cuddle stuff in your sleep. You cry when you stub your toe. I won't argue that you're a very good, smart, responsible boy, but you're also a feisty little shit who believes fiercely in the boogie man and the last thing on your mind should be getting a wife. So cross emotional upheaval off your to-do list, you got that?"

Phil looked the picture of misery by the end of her speech, and had his mouth open like he wanted to say something but didn't know what would help, while Amanda chewed happily on his hair and patted him comfortingly on the forehead. Josh just raised an eyebrow and asked, a little annoyed, "Mom, you don't think it'd be healthy for him? All he ever does is do homework and yell at people."

"Oh yeah," Phil muttered sourly, sulking at the floor. "Josh thinks I should 'loosen up' and have _fun—_"

Helga split a sharp look between the two. "If Phil was a normal kid, I might agree." She noticed Josh's surprise. "No, he is a huge wet blanket, he does need to relax," she ignored Phil's whipped glare of utter profound betrayal, "but a _girlfriend's_ the last thing that's gonna help him do that," she snorted and scoffed. Then she stepped over to grab a handful of Phil's hair and ruffle it affectionately as she cooed, "Anyway, he's got too many big, important things to do than worry about any of those icky old girls with their nasty cooties, blegh."

Phil threw his head back and groaned, "Mom!"

Helga ignored him and raised an eyebrow at Josh over his head. "You know, I'm surprised you're in on this. You believe in the curse?"

Josh frowned. "I don't know. Not really. I just think having a crush would do Phil some good."

Helga's face had gone flat by the time he finished speaking. "Uh-huh."

Phil darted an unhappy look between them both before whining, "Zack and Josh have had girlfriends before, why can't I?"

Helga barked out a harsh laugh and grabbed his head in her hands, startling a squeak out of him. She pressed several kisses to his head before pulling back with a smirk, enjoying the frozen horror on his face. "Firstly, honey, Zack is fourteen and trying to keep him from drooling after skirts is impossible—" She let go of his head and placed her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes up with a hushed utterance of, "Plus it doesn't hurt that he bounces back faster than a kangaroo." She looked back down at him dryly. "And second, Josh knows how to keep his head on straight. He understands that whoever he crushes on now probably won't end up his wife, and he's okay with that. I don't have to worry about him having any breakdowns."

Phil's frown widened. Running his fingers blindly through his hair to try to un-ick it, while Amanda enthusiastically undid any progress he managed to make, he surmised, uncertain, "But you worry about me..."

Helga smushed his cheeks and gushed affectionately, "Of course I do, you're my sweet sensitive little baby boy, you're too soft and precious not to worry about—"

Phil gagged and stumbled awkwardly back, snapping, "Mom, stop it!" Amanda giggled obnoxiously in his ear and he whipped a furious look at her. "And _you_, stop laughing at my expense!"

"But it's funny," Amanda giggled helplessly.

"Don't think I won't drop you, 'cause I will," he threatened in his best scathing tone, but the pouting mouth ruined it and Amanda giggled harder.

A grin suddenly broke out across Helga's face, and she whipped her phone out of her pocket to snap a picture. The flash made both Phil and Amanda stop and shoot her nearly identical looks of confusion, but Helga was already busy tapping away on her phone and snickering dirtily to herself. "Oh yeah, those old hags on Pinterest are going to love this one. Janice'll be seething with jealousy. You think you're the crème de la crème just 'cause you put your two-year-old in a duck hat? Think again, bitch."

"_Mother_," Phil yelped, glaring sternly. Helga gave him a sheepish grin over her phone.

Josh had grown sick of the hijinx by this point and asked loudly, trying to veer them back on point, "Why are you worried about Phil?"

Helga's eyes twitched in his direction, before she gathered herself and shut off her phone with a centered sigh. Once more the best mom ever, she tucked the phone away in her back pocket and answered, "Well, like I said, Phil is..." she shifted, "sensitive."

Phil was extremely offended. "Am _not!_" Amanda giggled again, but Phil loosening his grip for half a second, just enough for her to drop down half an inch with alarming speed, caused her to clam up.

Josh ignored them, focused fully on the only semi-sane adult in the room. "So?"

"So has it ever occurred to you what Phil having a crush on someone might look like?"

Josh hesitated. "Uh... I just... figured he'd be annoyed that he didn't hate someone for once, but he'd get over it and it would go from there."

Phil gaped at him. "I'm right here!"

Helga's eyebrow was sharp and assessing. "And if it ended up not working out? Especially if he thinks failure equals getting stuck with someone he doesn't like?"

Josh's lips had been parted while she spoke, but as his brain worked out the answer to her question, it snapped closed. "He'd freak out."

"Right. Here," Phil said. "Two feet away from you."

Josh shook his head rapidly at the idea. "I still say it'd be healthy—"

"You can't force a baby to walk when it's still learning to crawl, dear," Helga softly interjected.

"I'm not a baby!"

"Zack and I had crushes way before his age, Mom, and so did you and Dad," Josh argued, stubborn. "It's genetic, and the fact Phil hasn't—"

Helga was laughing by now. "Oh, you just want him to be preoccupied so he'll stop scolding you—"

"You know, Kori said something similar and I really resent that—"

Phil had reached his limit, and yelled at the top of his not-so-powerful lungs, "Shut up!" They did not. He grumbled and headed for the door. "Always about me or at me, never with me. Disgusting. Come on, 'manda, let's go find something to eat while these jerks kill each other." He opened the door and began down the stairs. As he descended, he told Amanda seriously, "Don't ever let anyone treat you with any less than you deserve, okay? If someone's mean, scream at them. Don't let it escalate. Not unless you want to get stuck marrying them."

Amanda smiled and nodded fervently. "'kay." She threw her arms around his neck, giggling when she heard him fake-choke. "If no girls ever like you, that's okay. I'll always love you, Philly."

Phil groaned like he was dying. He stepped off the staircase with a loud thud. "If you think I've forgiven you for stealing my room and filling it with dolls, you're wrong. We are enemies for life, destined to hate each other forever and ever and have ferocious battles of wit on the holidays, just like Grandpa and Mitzi, and I don't want to hear anything more about it. Understood?"

Amanda kissed him wetly on the cheek and murmured in the negative. He sighed and started down the second set of stairs.

Just as they made it to the landing, Amanda asked quietly, "You're still gonna look for a girlfriend, aren't you?"

Phil stopped at that. He adjusted her so she wasn't as heavy and replied, as he started walking again, "I have to, you heard what Mom said about the curse."

She shook her head. "You shouldn't have to do anything you don't wanna. Mama says you're not ready."

They reached the kitchen, and Phil was relieved to note it was empty. He kept his voice low anyway, aware there was always the possibility of eavesdroppers. "There are lots of things I haven't been ready for." He sat her at one of the chairs by the table and sighed, rubbing at his arm. "Hasn't stopped me yet."

"Why?" Amanda blurted, apparently not caring if anyone overheard.

Phil huffed and walked over to yank the door to the refrigerator open. Hidden thus, he replied, "Because life stinks but you have to do stuff, that's why."

"If you don't want a girlfriend, you shouldn't have to get one," Amanda insisted. "Christian says you shouldn't have to do things you don't wanna."

"Who's Christian?"

Amanda blushed. She glanced down and plucked at a loose string of lace on her dress. "A friend."

"Oh yeah?" Phil threw the door shut and placed two wrapped slices of watermelon up on the counter. "Well, tell your friend he's an idiot."

Amanda was shaking her head before he'd even finished. "No way. That wouldn't be friendly at all."

A plate of watermelon was clattered down on the table in front of her, along with half a cup of Yahoo. Phil slid into the seat beside her and took a sip from the bottle, grimaced, and sat it down with a clunk. "Friends are stupid," he sighed. "You'll learn."

Amanda frowned at him. "Why do you always drink Yahoo if it makes you so unhappy?"

Phil poked at his food, head rested in his hand. He mumbled to the table, "Because it's the only choice I have." He shoved her plate closer to her. "Eat."

* * *

><p>"This gentleman, the prince's near ally, my very friend, hath got his mortal hurt," a freckled nine-year-old girl read passionately at the front of the class, "in my behalf; my reputation stain'd with Tybalt's slander—Tybalt, that an hour hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, thy beauty hath made me effem… effem-in-ate and in my temper soften'd val-or's steel! <em>Benvolio<em>: O Romeo, Rome—"

"Thank you, Eleanor, that's enough," Mrs. Freitag said as she clapped her hands together once. Eleanor looked like she wanted to say something, but then just sat down with a frown. "Pete, you take Benvolio."

After a significant lull, Pete stood up, adjusted his glasses, and began to slowly and carefully read, "O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead. That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, which too untimely here did scorn the earth." He sat down.

Mrs. Freitag resisted rolling her eyes. "Georgia."

Georgia stood up, placed a fist upon her lips, and loudly cleared her throat. Twice. She then placed the finger of that hand on the book, slowly tracing it down the page to where Pete had left off, and with a deep breath, opened her mouth to say, "Yeah."

She then sat.

Mrs. Freitag nodded. "Very good, Georgia. Mercy, go on."

Mercy stayed seated, eyes glued to the page, and read in a cold, nasty tone, "Here comes the furious Tybalt back again."

Mrs. Freitag nodded and focused her eyes on Phil. "Mr. Shortman, since you've been so enthused, you may proceed."

Phil glanced up at her from under bored, half-lidded eyes. At the narrowed look Freitag sent him, he sighed and stood, the book flopping to one side in his hands. Ignoring Eleanor's scathing look, he read in a smooth, crackling monotone, "Alive, in triumph. And Mercutio slain. Away to heaven, respective lenity, and fire-eyed fury be my conduct now. _Tybalt enters_. Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, that late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads, staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him." He flopped back in his seat.

"Thou, wretched boy," Mrs. Freitag spoke.

Phil looked at her sharply.

She ignored the movement and read on from her book, "That didst consort him here, shalt with him hence. And Romeo replies to Tybalt, 'This shall determine that,' and they fight." Once finished, she snapped it shut with a single motion of her hand and met the eyes of the room. "Now then, let's talk about Romeo. How do you think he's feeling in this passage?" She snapped her eyes back to Phil. "Mr. Shortman, why don't you explain it to us."

Phil grumbled, "Why is it always me?"

"_Mr. Shortman_."

Phil threw his head back in a moment of exasperation before spreading his arms out in irritated surrender. "He's ticked off that his friend died so he wants to avenge him," he stated, aggravated.

Freitag's eyes narrowed. "And how do you know this?"

"Uh, because he _said so?_ 'Fire-eyed fury be my conduct,' remember? And then he said one or both of them had to join Mercutio in death. _Duh_." He crossed his arms aggressively and grumbled, "What a stupid question."

Mrs. Freitag stared at him very hard for a long time before finally forcing her eyes to land on someone else. "Pete, what do you think?"

Pete looked at her nervously. "I, uh. I… think…"

"This century, Pete."

Pete looked down, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I think he's, uh, probably feeling pretty bad 'cause his, um… his friend is gone." Inconspicuously, he looked out of the corner of his eye at Phil. Phil was staring impassively at the wall, paying no mind to anything or anybody. Pete swallowed and looked away.

Mrs. Freitag nodded. "How about you, Bard?"

Bald Kid looked up from the book with a scowl. "Who cares how he feels? Can't we just move on to the fighting already? I wanna know who gets it!"

Mrs. Freitag turned away to the board to hide her smirk. She began erasing the past lesson. "Exactly why we stopped here. Suspense is everything in literature."

"Yeah, more like you just love watching people suffer," Phil said.

Mrs. Freitag's hand froze mid-erase, right over the word 'feud.' After a moment, she finished erasing and turned back to the front of the class. Her eyes were like stone as she met his. "Perhaps."

Phil held her eyes for a little bit, but then tilted his head over to look at Bald Kid. "Everyone knows Romeo doesn't die 'til the end. Mercutio dies. Tybalt dies. Juliet dies. Romeo dies. _Everyone dies_."

Bald Kid gasped and spluttered, choked with outrage, before finally managing to spit, "Well, thanks for ruining the whole play for me, genius!" He slammed his book closed.

Phil snorted and turned his face back to the wall. "No problem."

It was at that moment the bell chose to ring, and the room exploded with activity.

Phil, for once, raced to be the first one out. It wasn't difficult, since his desk was the closest to the door, and before anyone knew it, he was cruising down the hall towards Josh's classroom.

_Home free_, he sighed blissfully as he turned his second corner, just before he was slammed into the wall.

Bald Kid and Silver glowered down at him from both angles, eyes appearing to glow in the dim shadows and teeth set in menacing glare. He gasped and plastered himself against the wall.

"Thought you could give spoilers and get away with it, huh?" Bald Kid sneered, keeping him pressed against the wall with one hand on his chest. "Well, you thought wrong!"

"So wrong," Silver added with a mean grin.

Phil reigned in his shock and sighed in heartfelt relief, pressing a hand to his head to still the steady throb. "Oh, criminy, it's only you two. Thank goodness. You can't sneak up on me like that, guys! You'll give me a heart attack."

"Not a bad idea," Bald Kid ground out, pressing him further into the wall. Phil grunted.

"Come on," he whined, impatient to get away so he could speak with his brother, "I told you, everyone knows how Romeo and Juliet ends! It's not about the plot. It's how you get to those points. It's the moments in between. I haven't really spoiled anything."

"Oh yeah, smarty-pants?" Silver asked snarkily, an eyebrow raised and hands fisted on his hips. "Who told you that load? Your mommy?"

"My dad," he corrected, before realizing his error. He grimaced painfully.

"Oh? Which one?" Bald Kid predictably joked, and burst into mad, dirty laughter. Silver threw his head back and joined him.

Phil's nostrils flared. With a violent jerk, he managed to loosen BK's hold, enough that he could almost slip out to the side. But he wasn't fast enough. Bald Kid caught him by the arm and slammed him back into the wall with a growl. His head bashed against the concrete. He cried out and grabbed at his head.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? Let him go!" a voice called suddenly, sounding far away.

BK and Silver paused, blinking, and turned around. Kori stood at the end of the long hall, speed-walking towards them with no hint in her body language that she'd be stopping anytime soon. Her eyes were alight with fury.

Bald Kid took in her height, rectangular glasses and pinned back hair with an indifferent eye. "What is this? Revenge of the Nerds?"

Meanwhile, Silver was slowly retreating backwards, hands up in surrender and visibly shaken. "No, dude, that's Josh Shortman's pet."

Kori stopped dead in her tracks, her dark face going unusually pale in the fluorescence. Her breathing elevated at an alarming rate. She shouted in renewed outrage, "What do you mean _pet?_ I ain't nobody's pet!" She rolled up her sleeves and began walking again with added purpose.

Bald Kid's eyes had widened as soon as the name Josh Shortman was dropped, and now seeing her pursuing after them again, gasped in a terrified breath. "Oh shit!"

"Run!" Silver wailed, before practically tripping in his haste to turn and escape.

Halfway down the hall, Silver registered the fact that there were no footsteps pounding behind him, and stopped. Spinning around, he saw Bard still frozen in his spot as Kori got closer and closer. He groaned and ran back to grab him by the arm. "Come on, man! Before she has our profiles completely memorized and reports us back to Josh! Do you wanna get creamed? _Come on!_" He pulled desperately at his arm.

Bard snapped out of it and nodded weakly. The two were off the next moment.

Kori stopped next to Phil and huffed at their retreating backs. She rested her hands on her knees and panted lightly. "Man, I gotta join track or something." She glanced at Phil, and her eyes softened. "Hey, you all right?"

Phil snapped out of his stupor and shot a glare on her. He said forcefully, "I'm _fine_. I was fine the whole time, thanks." He pushed away from the wall and started down the hall in the opposite direction of Bald Kid and Silver.

Kori slowly straightened and turned so she could gape at him. "_Fine?_ You were about to get your organs rearranged!"

Phil stopped. His back still to her, he curled his hands into fists and commanded, "Just don't tell Josh about this, okay?"

Kori's mouth clapped shut and frowned. "Are you kidding? He'd have it so those jerks never bothered you again, and you want me to keep it a secret? You know Ham and I don't have secrets."

Phil's shoulders pushed up into a hunch. He wondered derisively, if he was so capable, why didn't he ever do anything about Mercy and her crones? Out loud, he just grumbled, "He's the whole reason it started in the first place."

Kori stepped closer. "What?" she asked, having heard nothing but a mumble.

Taking in a breath, he braced himself and turned around. For a second, he tried to pretend he was Zack and forced a wide smile, clasping his hands unassumingly behind his back. "Look, forget about them. I've never said anything about them before because they don't bother me. I can deal with a couple stupid bullies. Don't worry about it. It's not a secret—it's just irrelevant." By the look on Kori's face, he'd failed spectacularly at looking believable. He dropped the smile and gave her his usual half-grimace. "Whatever. I've gotta talk to Josh anyway, maybe I'll tell him. It's not your place—"

"Oh yeah?" Kori crossed her arms and swaggered over to him, head tipping to one side. "Josh, huh? You were gonna talk to him about that Sara girl, right?"

Phil's mouth shut. He blinked a couple times. Then, finally, he narrowed his eyes. "Yeah."

"Wrong-o!" Kori declared and gave a big thumbs down. "You're lucky Ham and I tell each other everything. If he hadn't filled me in on his plans this morning, the whole operation would've been kaputz. I still can't believe he didn't think that _Josh Shortman_ asking around about a particular girl wasn't gonna turn heads." She shook her head to the floor.

Phil's eyes flew open as wide as they could go. "There would have been rumors and Sara would have heard all about them!" He slammed his fist in his hand. "That idiot!" Then it hit him that he hadn't thought about it either, and he slapped his hands over his face with a groan.

"Er…" Kori's arm drooped and eyes shifted. "I thought the same thing at first, but now I'm not so sure."

Phil's hands slowly lowered, enough to display his confusion. "What do you mean?"

A few kids had started milling around and looking at them curiously, so Kori put a hand on his back and patted him along. "Walk with me. We've got a lot to talk about."

Phil grunted at the hand on his back and sped up his pace to escape it. "What? Why? All I need—"

"Is to know what she's like, what she likes, who she hangs out with, the complete stalker starter pack—Yes, I know. But, man," she looked down at him, and though now she looked hesitant, her voice didn't falter, "there's no way this is gonna work out. You've gotta pick another girl."

"What?" Phil drew out in alarm, only to grunt again as a fresh burst of kids came streaming from one hall into their's and Kori gave him a sharp push to go faster. She gave him no opportunity to complain before she was speaking again. Her voice was hushed.

"I asked everyone I could think of and no one could tell me anything about her. I even called my dad's contact, Fuzzy Slippers, to see if he could dig something up for me. All he could get was a list of clubs. I thought, great, that's a start, right? But I went to the clubs, I asked the people, and _still_ nothing. I finally broke down and asked the school gossip, that Vienna kid, and she didn't even know who I was talking about! This girl's a ghost, Phil. She has no friends, no one knows anything about her, and she talks to _no one_. She doesn't exist."

Phil stopped dead. Kori tried to push him along again, but he gave a short growl and yanked himself out of her reach. Pulling his shirt on tighter, he huffed, "What are you talking about? She talked to me just fine. Heck, I couldn't get her to shut up."

Kori released a faint, hollow sigh through parted lips, looking unsurprised at his behavior. She glanced around, seeing that the hall was mostly clear, and looked back down at him seriously. "A couple campfire lasses said she's pretty good at selling. Don't know how she'd be able to do that if she couldn't talk to people occasionally, at least when it suits her."

"Then what's the problem?"

Kori's eyebrows shot up. "_The_ problem? No, there are several problems. Let's start with the fact you're not her customer anymore. You're just some kid. Why would she talk to you?"

Phil blinked and frowned. "Because I'm a stubborn brat who doesn't know how to take no for an answer?"

Kori snorted and grabbed one side of her glasses, slowly pulling them down the end of her nose to look at him over the rims. They were prescription glasses she needed to see and they both knew it, so the action was performed solely to look cool and irritate him in the process. It was super effective on both counts. She said lowly, "You know, normally I'd ask if you were joking, but I know you're not – not really – so I'm going to be very blunt with you here. The words that just came out of your mouth were horrible and you should feel horrible. Unless you want to die alone and possibly in a jail cell, wipe that thought and all related ones from your mind. Thank you." Sighing, she took her glasses off fully and wiped them absently with the edge of her skirt. Just to suck, Phil stepped out of her line of vision, and smirked when she didn't react. She went on, "Sara is clearly an avoidant introvert. No one expends that much energy eight to ten hours a day just so they don't have to speak with anyone meaningfully unless they have some serious issues. If you're determined to go after this girl, it's going to take extreme delicacy. The type of delicacy someone who makes ugly faces at a visually impaired person simply does not possess." She raised an eyebrow into open air.

Phil's eyes widened. He took his thumb off his nose and retracted his tongue. He coughed and looked quickly away, not-pouting at the floor. "Right."

Kori replaced her glasses and turned her head to face him once more, expression dry. "Pick someone else, Phil. There's no way you and Sara could ever work as a couple. In any universe. And that's coming from someone who's done extensive research on the multiverse theory." She gave a short laugh and widened her eyes at him with an amused grin, in hopes of lessening the blow of her words, then began turning to walk away.

Phil grabbed her arm to hold her in place. When she looked at him again, he met her eyes and stated with peculiar firmness, "She's the best shot I've got." A beat. He swallowed. "There's no one else. We've gone through the yearbook. You _know_ there's no one." When all she did was stare at him, he took a breath, regrouped, and let go of her arm. Casually, he said, "So, you talked to Gerald's contact."

Kori recognized the opener for what it was. His eyes blared at her, 'Gonna help me or not? Because if not, I'll just go and do it myself.' She looked to the wall, placing a hand on her hip as she did, and sighed exaggeratedly. Finally, after a long moment spent watching him squirm restlessly in her peripheral, she clapped her hands together, just to watch him jump, and said as she faced him, "I did. Like I said, all he could get me was a list of clubs."

Phil, rubbing the side of his head to clear an ache, gave her an unimpressed look. "_Fuzzy Slippers_ could only get a list of clubs? He couldn't access anything else? No report cards, address, phone number, nothing? Are we or aren't we talking about the guy who once infiltrated a drug base that'd been running since 1995—"

In an instant, Kori's dawning look of horror was blurred in the motion of her shooting forward to slap a hand over his mouth and pull him back against her chest. Phil gasped against her hand and tried to struggle, but was shocked into complacency when she began pulling him backwards and hissed in his ear, "I told Ham that in confidence!"

He stumbled to stomp her foot, and it was enough of a surprise to her that her hand slipped from his mouth. He seized the opportunity to laugh harshly and say, "S'not my fault you didn't check behind the couch!"

Repulsed, both by his words and his struggling, she pushed him away. When he turned to her again with a wry look, she pointed a finger at him and whispered thickly, "You'd better not tell anyone about that! I wasn't even supposed to know!"

Phil laughed again and waved her off. "Relax, I won't tell anyone. I'm better with secrets than you'd think." Relishing how her face was several shades paler than usual, he said, "So, about what he got on Sara..."

That snapped Kori out of her unhappy stupor, enough that she jerked her head back and scoffed, tapering into a high, incredulous laugh. "You really think I had him hack into an elementary girl's personal file? What kind of a business do you think we're running here?"

He blinked.

"No, he went very shallow into the PS 118 database. I don't think he even hacked anything. I'm pretty sure club members are listed publicly on the website. I'm kinda mad I didn't think to do it myself, but after hearing nothing but 'Sara who?' and 'Oh, that weirdo who stares at people?' all day, I figured joining a club would be the farthest thing from this girl's mind. The campfire lass thing was weird enough." She shook her head. "No, no. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. Whatever you want to know about her, you're gonna have to hear straight from her own mouth. And not because you nagged her into it or tricked her or tied her up and locked her in your basement or slipped her some cockamamie truth serum—"

Phil's eyes were wide and eyebrow high. "What kind a business do you think _I'm_ running?"

Kori spoke right over him, "You've just gotta remember that people like Sara are really difficult to get close to and any breach of trust will lose her to you forever and then we'll be right back where we started, so please just—pick someone else! For Pete's..." By the end of her speech, her hand was over her eyes and she looked the picture of misery. A second later, she quietly groaned, "This entire project is going to end in a restraining order, I just know it." She removed her hand and shook herself, trying to summon some semblance of composure. She met his eyes seriously then, with only a marginal edge of hysteria. "Okay, look. Originally, since we're on a deadline, I was hoping we could go for a more direct approach with this, but now that that's no longer an option – since, you know, you decided you're attracted to the Proenneke types – we're gonna have to be more discreet. Hang around her, be as unobtrusive as possible, give her time to get used to the idea of you, and—God, just pick someone else! You are the literal worst nightmare of every Sara on the planet!"

Phil's response was a fierce glower. "Who crowned you the grand knower of all things recluse?"

Kori's eyes went round, as if she could hardly believe he'd just asked her that. "You want me to cite my sources? O-kay." She stood up perfectly straight and began counting on her fingers. "Myself, my best friend, my brother, my _mom_..." She began walking down the hall once more, and Phil fell into step beside her, still glaring.

"I don't buy that. You're only quiet around adults. Otherwise you're totally obnoxious." Phil thought he heard her mutter something about pots and kettles, but ignored her. "And Josh has tons of friends."

"Tons of friends—right. And how many of those friends does he bring over to the house? Have dinner with? Sleepovers, movie nights, long phone calls...?"

Phil mulled that over. "Well..."

"Me, right? Just me." Kori glanced at him, then looked ahead. "Ham is weird. He's popular because he's nice, talented, and attractive. It's all very generic, and he knows that. It's why he's not very close with many people." When all Phil did was stare at her, she exhaled and tapped at her chin. "Let's see, how can I explain this... See, there are friends, people who only see you for face value and hang out with you mainly because it's convenient, and then there are _friends_, people who prop you up when you're down and don't mind seeing your more vulnerable side. Friends that you trust. And, Josh doesn't have many of those. In that way, he's pretty reserved."

Phil watched her soberly for a little while after she finished speaking, then turned his eyes to the floor. He took care to only step on the orange and red squares, avoiding the cracks out of habit.

Kori thought he looked bored and blew a strand of hair out of her face. As she slipped it back in with the rest of her flawlessly pinned hair, she asked blandly, "Are you sure there's no one else that would work? I'm not messing around when I say there's a one in ten billionth chance this ends well."

A few seconds later, Phil threw her a sarcastic grin. "Since when do I turn down a challenge? Bring it on. I know you have a plan, asian."

Kori returned his sarcasm with a sickeningly sweet grin of her own. "You bet I do, you pasty turd. I'm planning on sedating you and dragging your limp corpse down to your father's closet to shower you in bow ties so you can look your absolute cutie-patootiest when you go on your first disastrous date."

Phil's grin grew painful in its intensity. "What makes you think my dad has bow ties?"

Kori's eye didn't twitch and her cheeks didn't ache. "Your dad is the dorkiest man on the planet. He _has_ bow ties. Probably a bowler hat, too. And sock garters." She broke character suddenly to burst into laughter. "All in plaid!"

Phil's grin went up in flames. "Would you just tell me what to do?" he yelled.

Kori 'fffff'ed at him and waved a hand. "You can't guess? I told you Sara's in a few clubs."

Phil eyed her cautiously. "You want me to join one of them."

"No, I want you to join the navy."

Phil nodded solemnly and started to turn. "I'll get the submarine."

Kori snatched him by the back of his collar and pulled him along. "As precious the image of you in a sailor suit is, that won't be necessary. She's in three clubs that meet on a regular basis, all you've got to do is pick one of them."

Phil reclaimed his spot at her side, dislodging her hand, and nodded. "Okay, what are they?"

Kori laced her fingers together. "_Well_..."

**Five minutes later**

"_No_."

"You already rejected the Campfire Lasses and gymnastics. This is the only one left!"

"_No_."

"All right then!" Kori threw up her arms and started down the hall leading to the library. "I'll get you a leotard then! If we're lucky, maybe they'll still have neon pink tiger print in stock!"

"No!" He lunged and grabbed her arm. She looked back at him with a look of utter exasperation, and he floundered desperately for a way around it. Kori's eyes ignited into a slow simmer. "I'm done arguing about this, Junior," she fumed. "Do you want to torment this girl or not?"

Phil gaped at her stupidly.

Josh chose that moment to walk up and ask, "Hey, what's going on?"

Before Kori could signal for him to make a run for it, Phil had already started shouting, "I can't do it, end of story! There has to be another way!"

Josh spun on his heel and walked away, waving a hand never mind. Phil glared at Kori, paying no mind to his brother's retreat. Meanwhile Kori frowned at Josh's back, pained, then slowly turned her eyes back down to Phil's. Her face was dangerously still.

Phil pursed his lips at the look in her eyes and stiffly – stubbornly – crossed his arms. "There's no way I'm joining the drama club!"

* * *

><p><strong>Many five minutes later<strong>

"I can't believe I'm joining the drama club."

Kori tapped a fan open with a jerk of her wrist and fanned herself with an airy sigh. "Ah, the things one does to avoid marrying their arch nemesis."

Phil glared at her intensely and hissed, "You're not funny."

She giggled at his face. "Oh, come on, what's so bad about drama?"

Phil short-circuited. "What's bad? What's _bad? _Other than the fact these people dedicate their lives to skipping around on stage like a pack of idiots? That the majority of them are just attention-starved losers and egotistical morons? That every year they act out the same humdrum plays that got old twenty years ago and everyone always smiles and claps like it's the best thing they've ever seen so the idiots won't cry? Well, how about the fact that _Tristan Redmond_ is one of the main idiots behind this enterprise, the very same idiot who's been trying to get me to join the drama club as far back as I can remember, and he's gonna think that he finally managed to convince me and be insufferably smug about it for the rest of _eternity?_" Phil shouted the last part and had to take in a deep, gasping breath at the conclusion of his rant.

Kori looked beyond bemused. She wanted to point out the fact he'd just criticized the drama club with a dramatic speech, but decided it was too easy and chuckled. "O-kay, if that's really your opinion, it's never too late to turn back and find someone else." She tried not to sound too hopeful.

It was in vain either way, because Phil easily waved her off, as if he hadn't just had a mental breakdown. "Nah. Sara's obviously one of the attention-starved losers, so once I'm around, she won't need this crap anymore and we can not-skip into the sunset."

Kori rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, just remember not to come on too strong and scare her off. We don't know enough about her yet to know if she's receptive, so you're gonna have to be very… subtle."

Phil looked up at her as if she'd just broken out in perfect Hindi. "Subtle?"

"Yeah…" Kori spoke and nodded slowly as she realized whom she was talking to. Taking in a quick breath, she folded her fan up and tucked it into her shirt. "I see I'm gonna have to set some ground rules here. That's fine, but you're gonna have to listen to me very carefully. Are you willing to do that?" At Phil's nod, she took in another breath and began, "Rule number one: No marching up to her and announcing you're her future husband."

Phil made a sound of complete disgust. "Then how am I supposed to explain the direness of my situation?"

"Save it for later, Casanova. When you know for sure 'I want to be cursed in eternal limbo with you' isn't gonna send her heading for the hills. Got it?"

Phil didn't look happy, but he said, "Fine," albeit begrudgingly.

"Good. Rule number two: No cornering her in a dark alley and snipping off a lock of her hair so you can add it to your locker shrine and sniff it between periods."

Phil's eyebrows shot down so fast Kori nearly lost it. Giggling manically, she waved her arms at him to show she wasn't serious. "Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to see your face. And ah, you didn't disappoint. Awesome. Okay, okay, seriously now, rule number two: No attempting to start deep, personal conversations right off the bat. Remember, the entire point of this is to get her comfortable with you. So keep things simple. Small talk only, at least for now. Okay?"

Phil made an uncaring motion with one side of his body. Kori decided it would do and moved along.

"Rule number three: Don't do that thing that you do."

"What thing?"

"You know what thing. The one where something absolutely horrible happens and you giggle like someone gave you cake."

"I don't _giggle_ like—"

"Yeah, whatever you say, just don't do it. It puts people off, but I'm not gonna explain to you exactly why right now. Time is of the essence." She tapped pointedly at her watch. "Speaking of which, are you sure _you_ have the time to dedicate to this?"

"What do you mean?" Phil asked a little absently, fiddling with the buttons of his overshirt. Open or closed, that was the question. He wanted to seem casual and friendly, but at the same time, if Tristan came up, he wanted to be as buttoned up and closed off as possible. He had to take any advantages he could get here.

Kori saw what he was doing and snuffed, amused. Walking over, she gently pushed his hands away and began buttoning as she spoke, "I mean, don't you have homework and studying to do around this time?"

Phil watched her hands with a frown. "Not anymore."

Kori finished buttoning his shirt up halfway and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She smiled at her work as she eyed him over. "Rescheduling it then?"

"Something like that." He put his hands in his pockets, too, and rocked on his heels as he glanced anxiously down the hallway. "So come on, what's rule number four?"

Kori gave him a quick two taps on the forehead, and smiled wide when he snapped his eyes back on her. "Smile, be nice, and above all, relax. That's it. Everything's gonna be okay."

Phil exhaled slowly and tucked his hands deeper in his pockets. He muttered, "That's what you think."

Kori snorted and bopped him on the forehead once more. He pulled out a hand to wave her furiously away like an errant fly, and she snickered. "Yeah, yeah. I gotta go now. My dad'll be looking for me by now." She winked at him over her shoulder as she started walking away. Her smile was teasing. "Go get'm, tiger."

He stuck his tongue out at her back, not even certain why he felt the compulsion. He just did it 'cause it felt right, somehow. Or maybe because he _was_ feeling a little on edge. He ran his now-free hand over his face at the thought and pushed his hair back out of his forehead. It was now or never.

He walked down the hall for a little while, stalling the inevitable turn that would take him to the auditorium entrance, until even his slow pace couldn't save him. Looking up, he saw the old sign, _Woodrow Wilson's Auditorium, _and couldn't stop himself from gulping. There were so many things wrong with this picture.

His eyes slowly widening at the sign, he abruptly looked down and huffed at himself. "Come on, it's just idiots. You deal with idiots every day. This isn't any different from normal." He paced to the left and huffed again, chuckling almost hysterically before cutting himself off and glaring at the ceiling. "And that's the crux of the problem right there." He looked back down and shook his head. "Criminy, I am an idiot. Don't be an idiot." He smacked himself a few times rapidly on the forehead and forced himself to turn back to the doors. Looking at the door handles like they were poisonous snakes, he pushed his way through with one final growling mutter, "She'd better be an angel."

The first thing he saw upon entering the room was chairs. A lot of chairs. Beyond that, curtains, and… lights… and a bunch of kids standing on stage tossing a banana around and screaming that it was cursed.

Oh. Wonderful.

He tried to discreetly duck into one of the rows, but one of them spotted him – a chubby kid with slits for eyes and a broken tooth – and pointed straight at him with a hoarse scream, "It's the wizard!"

All eyes were on him in the span of a second. He nearly blacked out from sheer horror, but managed to pull himself from the brink at the last minute and shake his head at them, hands waving furiously. "No! No wizards here!"

Tristan had frozen at the sight of him and looked too stunned to say anything, as the other kids seemed to expect him to, so a girl came up – Eleanor from class, he recognized with a distant, numbing sense of displeasure – and stood tall on the edge of the stage. Throwing her head up and down, as if giving him a once over even though he was far enough away such a thing was pointless, she declared, "It is the wizard! He is trying to deceive us!"

"That fiend!" another kid yelled behind her.

"Ah, but your tricks are no match for my cunning," Eleanor went on arrogantly, throwing her braid over her shoulder. "You thought you could curse all the food in the land and put us all to sleep so you could take over the kingdom, but I know you're hiding the cure in that hat of yours."

"I'm not wearing a hat," Phil practically squeaked.

Eleanor scoffed and looked down at him like she was terribly clever, and announced dramatically, "That is because you made it invisible!"

All the other kids gasped at this revelation.

Having had about enough of this, Phil clenched his fists and marched stiffly up to the stage. If she wanted nonsense, she'd get nonsense.

Once only a few steps away from the stage, he looked up at her, placed his hands on his hips, and spat with utter scorn, "I haven't made it invisible, you stole it! You hired me to create the curse so you could take the throne yourself, but I got concerned so I created the cure and hid it away in my hat. So I could intervene if I thought things got out of hand. But I realized it was missing yesterday, so I traveled all this way to set things straight."

A murmur broke out over the kids. Eleanor's face went pink.

Oddly enough, Tristan chose that moment to yell, grinning from ear to ear as he did, "But she's the one who discovered the curse in the first place and came to warn us! How could this be? Why would she do that?"

Phil shot him a glare and didn't miss a beat. "What better way to throw suspicion off herself?"

Another kid spoke up, "Then why did she say you had the cure? Would not she want us to be unaware there _is_ a cure?"

"She knew getting me out of the way was more important, because I'm the only person who can make it. She knew I didn't have it, but she wanted you to all fight me and lock me up so I couldn't get in her way anymore. Probably planned to fake the cure breaking in the struggle to get it out of the way."

Tristan rubbed his chin, smiling so hard it was painful just to look at him. "That makes sense…"

A silence settled over the stage. A kid in the back threw the banana at the back of Eleanor's head. It clunked and fell in a harmless plastic clatter to the floor. Eleanor didn't so much as twitch.

Phil suddenly screamed and pointed at an overhead light. "Dragon!"

All the kids burst into a frenzy. Some just ran around in a panicked circle, others stared in terror, and others raced around shouting things like, "Evasive maneuvers," "Get the shot guns," "We're all gonna die!" Eleanor just continued to stare at him, and Phil realized with a start that she'd recognized him and that was why she wasn't reacting. Seizing the opportunity before it passed, he ran up the stairs and made to run at her, but then snapped back at the last minute and gasped, loudly and emotively enough that several kids stopped and looked at him. Faking a sad face, he told them, "The dragon got her."

Eleanor's mouth fell open.

Breaking the sudden silence and effectively stunning everyone in their spots, the squinty chip-toothed kid fell to his knees and wailed in anguish. "Why, cruel world?" he screamed, falling forward to bang his fists on the floor. "Why do they have to die so _young?_" He buried his face in his arms and started to sob, his shoulders violently shaking.

An almost vicious slapping of skin against skin made Phil's head snap around. There in the front row, standing up and clapping like his life depended on it, was Eugene Horowitz. A small pair of metal spectacles bounced on the end of his nose, and he chuckled a little as he stopped and reached up to still them. "Really great job, guys! You managed to create a fun, engaging story in the span of ten minutes! And I was glad to see that you kept going even when interrupted." He turned his stained grin on Tristan and dropped it. He walked up to the stage and began at once up the steps, an energy about him that had the kids instinctively moving out of his way. Though his smile was for the most part absent now, there was still the whisper of a grin at his mouth that seemed never to fade. "Although I appreciate that you were trying to be inclusive, Phil here," he stopped next to him and patted his shoulder, ignoring the way he shrunk away from him, "is new to the club." He looked down at Phil, smiling good-naturedly. "Do you know what you were just doing?"

Phil blinked up at him. "Goofing off?"

Eugene chuckled. "No. You were improvising! Improv is a, well, a sort of game us actors play to hone our skills." He looked back to Tristan then, smile lessening, and raised an eyebrow. "Tristan, you know better than to ask questions like that, especially to a new member."

Tristan offered up an easy smile as retribution, though there was very little apologetic in it. "Bro could handle it."

Another boy stepped up, with dark red hair that looked almost purple in the shadows, and Phil recognized him as the kid who'd questioned him shortly after Tristan. "I only asked because Tristan did," he said reasonably, heavy-lidded and about as expressive as a rock.

"Well, remember, it's not good to put all the pressure on your partner. Come up with stuff on your own, and stick to the information given. Uh," he noticed the chip-toothed kid was still sobbing on the floor, "Jeff, you okay over there?"

Jeff sat up and grinned. "Sorry, I wasn't sure we were done."

Eugene grinned brilliantly back. "That's fine. As always, love the energy. Keep it up." He clapped his hands. "Everyone, gather 'round!" Placing his hands on his hips, he spoke with a wide, jovial smile as they formed a semi-circle in front of him, "In case you didn't hear, we have a new member. Everyone, I'd like you to give a warm welcome to Phil." Putting one hand to the side of his mouth, he whispered playfully, "He's Mr. Arnold's son."

"Oh, we know who he is," Eleanor announced, lips puffed out as she scanned Phil from top to bottom. "What _I'd_ like to know is what he's doing here."

Phil carefully crossed his arms at her scrutinizing gaze, unconsciously setting his legs apart as he shifted. "I found myself some free time so I'm trying new things." It wasn't a lie.

Eleanor stared at him with that same puffy expression for another few, long seconds, wherein Phil hardened his face to stone and prepared himself for a verbal smackdown, when a grin suddenly split her face in half and she took a step closer to enthusiastically offer her hand. "That's great to hear! It's always good to have newbs around. Welcome to drama!"

Phil just barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. Though he managed for the most part, it still hung a little open as he stared down at her hand. "Uh…"

His arms having gone slack, Eleanor easily grabbed one of his hands, rubber in her grip, and shook it generously, grinning all the while. "I'm Eleanor Dixie, daughter of Senator Dixie and granddaughter of the once great Mayor Dixie. Pleasure to meet you." She released his hand to flop to his side.

Jeff jumped in beside her and pointed a finger at his own chest. "And I'm Jeff!" He pointed to the dark, red-haired boy beside him. "This is Morris!"

"Hello," Morris calmly greeted.

"And that's—" Jeff tried to go on, but his next introduction was cut off by the very person he was pointing at.

"Jordan," the goth girl from the cafeteria said, smiling brightly. At his look of horror, she giggled and waved her black fingernails at him. "Mellow, man, we don't bite." She gestured to the girl on her right, a bubbly blonde with sparkly blue eyes and flowers in her hair, practically vibrating with excitement. "This is Mika." Mika waved enthusiastically, as Jordan went on, "She's an aspiring mime, but she sings like an angel. _Just_ sings."

Mika placed a finger over her lips and smiled with all her teeth.

One by one, each of the kids introduced themselves, each seeming friendlier than the last, and all with genuine warmth and enthusiasm. Phil had to press a hand to his mouth to keep the vomit down.

"I'm Carmen!"

"Carolina!"

"Mathius here."

"Greyson."

"Orlando."

"Peyton York."

"_Khalil._"

"Godric."

"—Refugio—"

"—Jacob—"

"—Aubrey—"

"Cheryl—"

"—Hattie."

"And the boy who needs no introduction, Tristan!" Jeff exclaimed, bouncing on one leg as he gestured to the boy in question while he walked up to the group. "His dad funds all our plays 'cause he's rich!"

Tristan grinned at him, all the usual laziness in his expression and stance replaced with something alarmingly close to pride. His eyes shone with delight. "Glad you've finally decided to join us, little dude."

Phil's head was spinning, his stomach churning, and his lungs stinging from this influx of information and welcoming faces and easy acceptance and—the fact he'd stopped breathing at some point. So he did the only thing he could do. He shoved all the confusing emotions down, doused them in gasoline, and set them on fire. Hoping his eye wasn't twitching as badly as it felt like it was, he dropped his hand and managed to say, not at all hysterically, "Yeah, that's swell. Anyone know where Sara is?"

"Who?" Jeff asked loudly.

Eleanor laughed like he'd just told a good joke. "The water girl? She's in the back!"

"Eleanor," Eugene admonished, though he looked vaguely amused. "Sara's not the water girl, she's a valuable member of our group."

"Sure thing, Mr. Horowitz." Eleanor sent him a winning smile, before turning away to admire her nails.

Eugene sighed and shook his head, smiling as he did, and turned his eyes on Tristan. "You know Phil?" At Tristan's happy nod, he hopped on his toes. "Super! He's gonna need some buddies to show him the ropes. Think you're up for the task?"

"Sick."

"I'll take that as a yes! We're gonna take five. Do whatever you want, kids! Just make sure it's safe!" He took one step to the left, yelped as the wood gave way, and careened to the floor, landing hard on his side. At the looks of concern a few of the newer kids shot him, he swiftly sat up and waved them off, chuckling. "I'm okay! Go on! Everything's fine!" They reluctantly obeyed. He pulled his foot free, tutting with a resigned sort of amusement at the ruined leg of his pants, and stood.

As soon as Mr. Horowitz walked away and the kids began dispersing, Tristan walked up to him and grinned. And grinned. And grinned…

Phil looked at him like a small girl might observe a leech. "I didn't join because of anything you said, so you'd better wipe that stupid look off your face."

Tristan didn't. Phil took a couple steps back. Tristan still stood, teeth all on display and eyes twinkling, insufferable in his idiocy.

Finally, he said, "I knew you'd fit right in."

Phil was so not dealing with this right now. Throwing his head back, eyes almost brutal in their rolling, he pushed past him and started backstage. "Go dance off a cliff, Tristan, I don't need a buddy."

"Really, dude?" Tristan asked, following behind him, no doubt still with that grin. "I remember your exact words being that you _did_ need friends."

Phil almost stumbled. Determined not to let any weakness show, he kept walking, almost stomping now. He ground his teeth, not even caring they were gonna be nubs by the time the week was up.

"I _remember_," Tristan emphasized pointlessly, like a dog begging for treats.

Phil ignored him, pushing a curtain aside so he could stick his head backstage. Rather than finding the entire reason he was putting himself through this torture, he came face to face with Jeff's squinty brown eyes. Phil gave a shout and threw himself back from the curtain, falling back into Tristan, who caught him with a surprised grunt. Phil hung from his arms like a rag doll, dazed and about ready to just shut down and sag there forever.

Jeff came through the curtain and tilted his head at them. "Gee, sorry. I just got you a water." He held out the bottle.

Phil blinked at it, unsure how to respond, and unwilling to try to figure out how. Jeff frowned slightly and took one of his limp hands in his warm, pudgy ones, molding it with his own around the bottle before letting go. Phil almost dropped it, but remembered how to put effort into something at the last second. It was that remembrance that snapped him back to reality, and he realized with a start that Tristan was _touching_ him—He jerked away with a sound of raw disgust and had the bottle open in a second flat, gulping water down like it might cleanse him of the occurrence.

Jeff was enthralled, a hand poised at his cheek as he smiled crookedly at him guzzling like a lunatic. "Man. You're sorta weird."

Phil choked and coughed, water spilling out over his chin and trickling to the floor. He wiped it away furiously with his sleeve and shot a narrow-eyed look at Jeff.

Jeff caught the look and smiled wider, leaning back. "It's okay! I like it. That thing with the dragon was killer." He shared his smile with Tristan. "We don't get nearly enough dragons in improv."

"I also found Eleanor's subsequent demise most killer," a blank voice said directly beside him.

Phil jumped a foot off to the right, shoulder hunched in a self-preserving, defensive pose. Morris merely blinked, arms hanging at his sides and face still utterly void of expression. Gaining his wits back, Phil stuttered and spat, "You-You can't just sneak up on a guy like that!"

Morris' stared at him. "You are socially awkward. I accept this. Did you know my father hates your father?"

Phil clutched at the water bottle like his only line to sanity. "What?" he croaked.

"You are confused. I am as well. I asked my father about it once but all he replied with was," he made a series of odd, aggressive grunts and short moans. "He was eating at the time. He is always eating. Knowing him, it likely has something to do with food."

Phil tried not to cry. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought it would be best to get it out of the way."

"Hey," Jeff whispered, having leaned over so his mouth was right by his ear. Phil clutched tighter. "Did you know everyone hates you?"

Phil exhaled, feeling something that had fallen loose the moment Eleanor grinned at him snap back into place. He turned his head to him with a heavily sarcastic look. "I've gotten that vibe, yeah."

Jeff nodded, taking him serious, and whispered as he leaned back, "'Kay, just checking."

Morris spoke up again, "Do not let Jeffrey's words fool you. We do not hate you. You have given us no reason to do so. I am more inclined to think of us as friends."

"Hey, me too, if you want," Jeff said, grinning. "You seem fun. Maybe our next improv we can fight dragons together!"

"We're a family, dude," Tristan added, smiling at him. "You're one of us now."

"One of us, one of us," Jeff chanted, sticking his arms out and walking towards him like a zombie.

Phil was running out of gasoline. Breathing too rapidly for comfort, he waved his arms at them, signaling for Jeff to quit advancing, and said, "Look, I'm not here to—to do whatever it is you—I just really need to find Sara, she has something I need!"

Jeff was confused. "I already got you the water—"

"No!" Phil snapped, giving him a look of utter antipathy. The water bottle clunked to the floor. "It's something else! And I really need to talk to her, so if you could just…" he breathed shakily out, "leave me alone. That would be great."

Not waiting for a response, he turned and pushed past the curtains.

Whatever he expected backstage to be like, it was… pretty much exactly like this. The whole place was wooden, with wood floors much less polished than the stage, and plain wood walls, all bleeding together in a mass of deep brown. Wooden beams suspended high above with sacks of flour hanging from them. Several white doors stood along the walls, a few with large yellow stars hanging on them, and old props lined against the far wall. It was dark, and had a very private, intimate feel to it that promoted an easiness of spirit. As soon as the shadows settled over him, Phil felt himself uncoil. He sighed and leaned against the wall, burying his face in his hands.

He could hear them speaking on the other side, asking Tristan what was wrong with him, and shuffled farther away from the curtain so he didn't have to listen.

For a minute, he just focused on leveling out his breathing. He didn't think about the kids; he didn't think about drama; he didn't think about Mr. Horowitz—and for that one minute, all was calm.

Once he was sure he wasn't going to snap and start hyperventilating like a wounded banshee, he looked up. It was peaceful back here, the only sounds being muffled sounds of chatter coming from the other side of the curtain. It was very still, very quiet… Unusually quiet, even.

Suspicious now, he stepped away from the wall and began his search. Despite a few benches, props and boxes, it was bare. No sign of life, no water bottles, no footsteps. Pausing, he called out, "Anyone back here?"

Silence.

He opened all the doors and looked inside.

Empty.

He pushed a few props aside and looked behind them.

Nothing.

Starting to get seriously peeved, he ducked down and looked under all the benches.

No one. Not even a spec of dust. Kori's words resonated in his mind.

_This girl's a ghost, Phil. She has no friends, no one knows anything about her, and she talks to no one. She doesn't exist._

"Great," he groaned, sitting back on a bench. "Of all the people in all the world, I had to pick a phantom." He humphed and rested his chin in his hand, closing his eyes. "Maybe if I'm still enough, she'll abduct me." He waited a while, half-expecting her to do just that. When nothing happened, he growled and shot up from the bench, opening his eyes to glare into the darkness. He started in the direction he came, part-stomping with wild gesticulations. "Forget this, I'm going out there and telling Eugene I quit right now! This is hopele—"

His nose smashed into something warm. The something—someone gasped and stumbled, but just before they crashed into the floor on top of each other, the person did—something, brushing against his face, darkness then a burst of shadow—and next thing Phil knew he was staring up at the ceiling, and someone was… beside him…

Dread building steadily in his stomach, he slowly turned his head to look, and came face to face with light purple eyes wide with mirroring shock.

Sara blinked at him, her head miraculously upside down next to his. She smiled awkwardly. "Hello again."

Phil gawked, and for whatever reason, didn't scream and scramble away like he normally would have. He just felt… done. Raw. He puffed out a sigh through his nose and lowered his eyelids. "Why are you upside down?"

"Why were you looking for me?" she countered.

"I asked you first."

"You're avoiding the question."

"So are you!"

Sara blinked, and smiled that funny smile. "Maybe I don't want to answer."

Phil didn't care that he was laying on the floor. He crossed his arms and glared, air hissing past his teeth as he breathed out. "Has it occurred to you that maybe I don't, either?"

She just blinked again. Her eyebrows furrowed. "You don't want to tell me why you were looking for me?"

Phil huffed. "It's no weirder than you not wanting to tell me why you're upside down!"

She raised an eyebrow at that and stared at him. He glared back, standing his ground. Or... metaphorically, anyway.

Finally, she seemed to give in, because she sat up, folded herself in some odd way with her hands on the floor, and pushed herself up so she was standing on her hands. Looking him dead in the eye, she then dropped back and fell so she was on her back, upside down from where he was laying once again. Phil sat up and twisted around so fast he almost fell. "You're _lying_."

She smiled at him in that funny way again and started sitting up. "I was told you wanted to talk to me."

He noticed for the first time that she wasn't in her Campfire Lass uniform this time around, as she tucked her feet underneath herself and faced him. Absently, he noted that it was some pinkish dress thing with a black sash, and thought little more of it than that. It was an improvement from the uniform at least, but then, so would a paper bag. He shook his head. "You're lying," he repeated, glaring at her for the trick.

She tilted her head down slowly, eying him. Her expression was inscrutable. "If you say so. You want to talk to me?"

She was lying, his mental voice insisted helplessly. A large part of him didn't want to let it go, and not just because he really needed to avoid her choice of topic. He wasn't really sure why – Kori _had_ said she was in gymnastics, and his family did acrobatic stunts all the time, so why couldn't some girl? – but then, he wasn't sure about much, so whatever. He continued to glare, partly out of habit, partly because he needed to feel in control of something. "I _don't_."

Which… wasn't technically a lie. He didn't _want_ to do any of this, it was purely necessity. All of this was.

Thank creation for semantics. He'd be Kentucky-fried three ways to Sunday a hundred times over without them.

Sara's face blanked. "If this is about the turtles…" she began hesitantly, and seemed to wait for some confirmation. When he just stared at her, she licked her lips and finished, "I'll be by to drop them off in three to five business days. I expect you to have the money by then." She glanced at the curtain. "They've probably started a new game by now. You should go."

His frown deepened. "You're not going?"

She shrugged. Systematically, she brought her legs out and gracefully stood. As she walked away, deeper into the back, he couldn't resist snapping, "What? No back flips?" When she didn't respond and just continued walking, he mentally scrambled a bit before crying out in hair-pulling aggravation, "What are you doing in drama club if you don't do anything?"

That got her to turn her head, just for a moment, and meet his eyes. Her face was perfectly serene as she asked, "What are you?"

He blinked hard, and in the amount of time it took to open his eyes, she had disappeared. He sat, staring into the darkness with a screwed expression, for he didn't know how long. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, before the curtain separated to reveal Morris' dispassionate face. Morris looked at him as if sitting on the floor doing nothing was the most normal thing in the world.

"Phil, Mr. Horowitz has—"

The fabric of the curtain suddenly exploded out, revealing Jeff's excited face as he wrapped his legs around Morris' back and gripped his shoulders tight. He declared, "I claim Phil as my partner!"

Morris wobbled a little before grabbing for the curtain. "Jeffrey, calm yourself."

Jeff blew a raspberry at the ridiculous suggestion. "I smell jealousy!"

"That is not possible. Jealousy does not have a smell."

"Yeah, it does! It smells like sour limeade mixed with garbage juice. It's terrible, but also strangely addictive."

Something in Phil snapped. He wasn't cognizant of standing, but knew he must have because the next thing he knew he was standing in front of the two taller boys and glaring with everything he had. "Let's just get one thing clear," he barked, startling the two, "I am a living, breathing human being with a brain and a will—not something for you to call dibs on. I do what I want, with who I want, and right now I want..." He flicked his eyes between the two boys, before settling them on Morris. He grabbed him by the arm and tugged him out of the curtain. "You, come on."

The sudden turn had Jeff sliding off Morris' back and falling on his behind. He watched the two walk off with a tiny frown. A moment later saw him shrugging and racing away to happily accost another kid for his partner.

Once several feet away, Phil let go of Morris and turned to him. Morris looked untroubled by this turn of events and met his eyes blandly. He said nothing.

Phil found himself becoming unsettled by the unrepentant stare and shuffled a little in his spot. Eyes shifting across the boy's face, he explained, "You seem quieter."

To his relief, Morris nodded and replied forthwith, "Jeffrey is exuberant. He is also understanding. If you asked him to calm down, he would."

All Phil's disconcertion was lost to righteous disbelief. "He wouldn't with you!"

Morris nodded again, like his response was entirely expected. "That is because I have known him for three years. Once he is comfortable with you, he believes he can get away with anything. So long as you keep him at arm's length, emotionally, you should be fine."

Phil snorted. Having had about enough of this conversation, he glanced around. Kids were still pairing off, as the ones already partnered up played patty-cake and whispered amongst themselves, and Phil pursed his lips. Linking his hands, he asked, "So... what do we do?"

"We wait for Mr. Horowitz's cue," Morris explained. "Once everyone is paired, we each take turns center stage and select a hypothetical situation from a hat. We then act out that situation. We will not begin for another few minutes."

"Oh." Phil looked to his shoes.

Morris seemed totally content to stand beside him in silence, but Phil was growing antsy. The white noise in his head was getting to subatomic levels, and Phil's tic was acting up. He hated not having something to do. He needed to be watching something, or reading something, or talking to someone—or thinking, but right now that wasn't an option. A large part of him was determined to numb itself to the entire experience of _drama_ – the word rang mockingly in his head – and ignore anything and anybody involved with it, but the silence was going to kill him if he didn't do something.

So, Phil blurted, "You don't call me Phillip, so why do you call him Jeffrey?"

Morris actually looked surprised at his outburst. Phil guessed he'd be a little weirded out, too, if someone told him they preferred his company 'cause he was quiet then tried to force him into conversation, but he really couldn't care less at the moment. A short pause later, Morris replied, "I said I have been trying to keep him at arm's length. Formality is one of my methods. I feel no need to use it with you. You do not seem like the type to pounce on me and try to play like I am a horse."

Phil almost laughed at that, but he managed to restrain himself. "Yeah, you're, uh..." he coughed into his fist, "safe from me."

Morris nodded. He seemed to like doing that. "I am glad you chose me for your partner. I was going to ask you before Jeffrey interrupted."

Phil grunted.

He was relieved that Morris seemed to catch onto his plight and continued talking. He kinda hoped he'd move on from the topic of partners, but really couldn't care less about what he said so long as it gave him something to focus on. As it was, he was resigned to having to chat with this contractionless freak, and settled in for the beginning of a long, boring relationship. "I am amazed you have never done improv before," Morris said, blandly. "You are not bad."

Phil had to roll his eyes at a statement like that. "It's just make-believe. Any two year old could do it."

"Make-believe?"

"Yeah. You know, pretending you're a gangster, pirate, airplane attendant. I used to do that a lot."

"Used to?"

Phil was just opening his mouth to speak again when Morris spoke, and clapped it closed again in surprise. Really, he was used to rambling and having others either walk away, gape or try not to fall asleep, so the genuine curiosity in Morris' voice was startling enough as is, but added onto that was the response itself. A pang hit him low in his belly that he couldn't explain, and he glared at Morris for causing it. "Yeah, before I got better things to do."

"Like what?"

Phil narrowed his eyes further. "Like working to become a valuable member of society."

Morris seemed to chew on this bit of information before he replied, "That sounds boring."

Phil decided then and there that Morris was an idiot. "Plenty of things in life are 'boring,' " he used air-quotes, because darn if he was gonna give the word any power in this discussion, "and believe me, I _know_ boring," _like your face_, "but that doesn't change that they need to get done. They're important. If people just didn't do stuff because they got bored after a while of doing them, we wouldn't have lightbulbs, railroads, airplanes, computers, _television_." He turned his nose up. "And besides, the tedious things in life always have the sweetest rewards."

Morris' stare really was annoyingly intense. "Like what?"

Phil sniffled and swiped at his nose with his sleeve, breaking eye contact. "Respect." He blinked and added as a casual afterthought, swaying to the side as he clasped his hands behind himself, "And a healthy economy."

Morris' line for a mouth shrank, and he turned to face the front just as Mr. Horowitz started walking up the steps. "You are an odd child," he muttered. "We will be good friends, no matter our fathers' opinions. Like the platonic Romeo and Juliet. We will die famous."

Phil snorted, quietly as Mr. Horowitz began walking down the line. "I don't even know you, let alone like you."

Morris didn't miss a beat. "Then we will be Romeo and Rosaline. That is fine. There is less death."

Phil was glad Eugene reached them with the hat before he had to reply, because he really had no response to that.

* * *

><p>"See, there's a lot of different types of curtains. There are those that go up to reveal the stage, and these are called Austrian curtains or drapes—also known as a puff curtain. There are some variations on this, such as a <em>waterfall<em>, but I won't get into those for now, since you probably won't encounter too many of them. Now, the type we have is the most common, and it is called a traveler curtain, draw curtain, bi-parting curtain, or, simply, a traveler." Eugene smiled down at him. The auditorium was empty, the last of the kids having trickled out some twenty minutes ago. His words held an odd echoing quality to them when he stepped too close to the middle of the stage. Now, he stood at the back, one hand folded around thick rope and eyes gleaming with a kind of quiet enthusiasm. Phil stood beside him with wide eyes, silently observing. "They're pretty standard because they're so simple to operate. There's two ropes, one that opens, and one that closes. You just pull on them, like so." He gave the rope a light tug, causing the curtains to _swoosh_ a tad. "Want to give it a try?"

Phil nodded breathlessly, practically bouncing on his feet. Eugene chuckled at the look in his eyes and stepped aside, gesturing to the curtain. Phil grabbed onto it and pulled. Phil stopped a moment and looked, saw that the curtains hadn't moved, and clenched his teeth. Holding tighter to the rope, he closed his eyes and pulled with all his might. Eugene gave an innocent cough and inconspicuously took hold of the rope, pulling it with little effort. The curtain parted grandly, revealing the bare, dimly lit stage to the nonexistent audience. Phil opened his eyes and gaped, awed. He breathed, "Cool," and hugged the rope to himself.

Eugene smiled fondly. "It is pretty cool, huh?" He turned to observe the stage, the overhead lights casting specs of dust in enchanting focus as they drifted through the air. A sort of longing drifted over his face.

Phil looked at him curiously, still clutching tight to the rope. "I didn't know you knew so much about theatre stuff. I mean, I knew you were interested in it, but…"

Eugene chuckled, brought out of whatever place he'd just lost himself in. "Ah, yeah. It was, kind of one of those passions that take a backseat after a while. It's not that important." He turned away and walked over to a chest sitting against the wall. Turned away as he was, he made no attempt to push back the melancholy that wanted to steal over his face. It appeared in a frown on his lips and a lowering of his eyes as he opened the chest.

Phil sensed it all the same. He turned as well, still by the curtain, and tilted his head at the man. He glanced down at the rope in his hands and let go with a slight unclasping jerk of his wrists. Looking back to Eugene, he stated bluntly, "I know it's more than that." A little more casually, he followed, "You can tell me, if you want."

Eugene straightened with a brief, unsurprised chuckle, shaking his head. He held a mask in his hand. His head turned to reveal a close-lipped smile and warm eyes. "You are just like your dad."

Phil didn't comment on that.

All at once, a weight seemed to settle over Eugene's shoulders, and he walked back over to where Phil stood, pulling up a stool as he did, and gestured that Phil should sit if he like. Phil stood and watched him. Eugene sighed, his eyes focused forlornly on the mask. "Well. I don't know. As a kid, I used to love all this…" He looked up at the rafters and waved a vague hand to it all, then the hand fell and clasped in a fist before his chest. He bit his lip and looked back down. "But. There was a lot of teasing. It wasn't so bad when I was young, I never let it bother me—never let _anything_ bother me, but after a while, I just…" He shook his head, at a loss for words. He glanced at Phil's face, saw the crease between his eyebrows, and smiled. "It's difficult to explain. When you're a kid, things are a lot simpler. You know who you are, what you love, who you want to be, and you don't think too hard about stuff. Everything comes natural. But, as you get older, all that gets… foggy." He looked to the mask. "I got foggy, I guess you could say."

Phil was eight years old. Eugene may as well have been talking about molecular physics in regards to rabies-infested ostriches for all Phil understood of it, but he absorbed this information as well as he was able. "So, you just… forgot about it."

A puff of air whooshed out Eugene's nose. He threw a tilted smile at him. "Oh, not for long. Don't get me wrong. High school is hard, but it does pass. People mature. I eventually got over it and moved on. I did all the usual stuff in the beginning—went to auditions, practiced every day, tried to make a name for myself. But… we can't all make the big time, kiddo. There are a lot of talented people out there, with just as much enthusiasm, and you learn after a while that it's more luck than anything else, and I never had luck in abundance." He chuckled. "Oh sure, I got into a few plays, had some laughs, but then a letter came. It was a… a college acceptance letter." The smile faded. His knuckles paled against the mask. "In the end, the decision wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I got my doctorate and haven't looked back since." He looked up at the curtain, smiling bright and sad. "All I ever wanted was to protect people, to help them and make their lives better. I'm doing that now. I don't regret it. But there are some days… Well." He shook his head at the floor and lowered the mask. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Phil observed him. "It sounds a lot like it does."

Eugene grinned. "Maybe a little. That's why I'm so thankful to have this opportunity." He spread his arms out to the sides, stepping back to give a slow spin, gesturing to all of the auditorium. "To have all this, where I first learned my love for theatre. To impart that love onto the still-sprouting youth and build up their confidence. It's great!"

Phil was glad he wasn't looking at him, because he couldn't have held back the eye roll if he'd tried. He looked to the stage with a twisted quirk of his mouth and half-closed eyes. "Uh-huh. What's up with all this anyway? An elementary drama club? Somehow I doubt that was Principal Deon's idea."

In the midst of his spinning, Eugene threw himself back to sit on the chest. He neglected to recall that he hadn't closed it, however, and fell right in amongst the props with a startled "_Oof!_" Blinking his surprise, he wiggled a little, before deciding it wasn't so bad and settling in. He smiled. "You're right. It was Alan Redmond's."

Phil looked to him with flying eyebrows. "Tristan's dad?"

"That's him. He's a pretty spectacular guy. He thought Tristan wasn't being given enough opportunities at PS 118, so he funds a lot of the school clubs now. He can't be here all the time to supervise things, though, so your dad talked to me about it, and I thought it was such a great idea that I volunteered to help run drama." He chuckled and tried to stand, but found that his butt was stuck. Biting his tongue in concentration, he tried to push himself free. "Of course, there's also Mr. Leichliter."

"Who's that?"

"He's…" Eugene hesitated. Stalling his answer, he gave one final, strong push and crashed headfirst into the floor. The mask went clattering somewhere. He yelped but popped his head up fast, eyes wide, and declared, "I'm—"

Phil waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, you're okay. Mr. Leichliter?"

Eugene blinked and sat back. He worried his bottom lip. "He's the director."

Phil snorted and held back a nasty grin. "He must be a real pest if that's the only thing _you_ have to say about him."

Eugene managed not to roll his eyes, but only just. Something about being around Phil brought out such tendencies in him. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but he was very comfortable around the boy, so he'd always figured that must count for something. Standing up, he hummed, "Yeah. I mean, no. Well." He chuckled suddenly, real and genuine. "He's a nice guy deep down. I'll admit he's a bit prickly, and, er… eccentric! But I've found him to be a warm, congenial fellow beyond that."

Phil smirked. The guy was a toad, he was sure.

Eugene saw the look and tilted his head down at him, smiling in a stern, friendly sort of 'now, now' way. "Really, be nice to him. He's no different from you or me."

Phil mock-huffed and poked absently at the rope. "Gosh, no need to be insulting."

This time Eugene did roll his eyes, but he did so with a smile as he looked around for the mask. He spotted it a few feet to his right and so went over to obtain it. "I mean he's always been a sort of underdog."

That got Phil to look at him again, with a funny expression. "Underdog?"

Eugene straightened from picking up the mask and swung his fist. "Yeah, you know! The dark horse, the little guy, the poor, the weak, the—the… well, the loser." He grinned crookedly.

Phil bit his cheek and looked away. He'd always known he was a loser, and considered little, poor, and weak by general consensus, but he couldn't recall ever having been under any dogs. He was also fairly sure he wasn't a horse, or a dark one at that, but whatever. Phil liked Eugene enough to let him blabber, so he ceased his mullings and met Eugene's eyes again. "Mr. Leichliter is a loser?" he asked dryly.

Eugene chuckled and looked off, taking a moment to reflect on the old theatre critic. He couldn't call himself friends with the man, not exactly, but there was a respect there, a mutual admiration that had gone unspoken as far back as their first play together when Eugene was nine. He'd even recommended him to a few directors, and given him one role in a small-time production he'd put on when Eugene was still performing. Eugene was both gratified and ashamed to know, if it weren't for Mr. Leichliter, he wouldn't have been in any shows at all.

Though he also may not have been shunned as much if Mr. Leichliter hadn't become involved with him, since he'd apparently managed to anger more than half of the musical community during his career and next to nobody wanted to have anything to do with the man, but he didn't like to think about that too much.

When Eugene told him he'd given up theatre to pursue medicine, he hadn't needed to hear the man spluttering to know he'd lost a fair measure of respect. Even after seeing him again years back when he first started running the drama club and working with him for all that time, Mr. Leichliter held his nose up around him. He still liked him, Eugene knew that, but they didn't talk about anything outside of business. It almost made him sad. But now, thinking of him, Eugene could only smile. "Sort of," he granted. "He knows what it feels like. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but it's not exactly a secret, so..." He shrugged, like it was inevitable. Then with an eager excitement, asked, "You know '_Eugene, Eugene!'_?"

With downward eyebrows and a small frown, Phil's look was almost troubled. "Your name?"

"Oh! Gosh." Eugene took the stool he'd pulled up for himself and scooted closely to Phil. Phil let him, but his expression seemed to intensify. Eugene was too delighted to notice and babbled away, "It's an old classic! A famous broadway musical, and one of my favorites. I can't believe you've never heard of it. I played Eugene when I wasn't too much older than you, and your dad got the role of the antagonist." He poked Phil in the stomach. His eyes twinkled when Phil squeaked and moved away. "Eugene is the perfect example of an underdog, and in a way, Mr. Leichliter, too—he's a loser, he's a klutz, and things never seem to go his way. But he's so darn loveable, you find yourself rooting for him anyway."

Phil was baffled. "How is he anything like Mr. Leichliter?"

"Oh, see, in the play, Eugene falls for a sweet, beautiful woman named Betty, but a wealthy business tycoon named Lawrence falls for her as well and plots to steal her away. He's the perfect opposite of Eugene, where he's optimistic and kind, Lawrence is cruel and controlling. Still, Betty is torn between them and for a long time stays with Lawrence. But in the end, she realizes Eugene is her true love and they dance pas de deux—a touching ballet duet. Mr. Leichliter is a lot like Eugene because he fell for a woman named Betty, but she left him for... another man." He coughed and hoped his sudden awkwardness on the subject wasn't too noticeable, or at least that Phil would ignore it. "Anyway, Betty eventually found him again and they've been together ever since, but for a long time Leichliter was convinced good-hearted losers were _just_ losers. He was torn up about it for a long time, even to the point he rewrote '_Eugene, Eugene!'_ so the villain would get the girl."

Phil tried valiantly not to fall asleep on his feet. "That's... interesting."

Eugene caught the lie and smirked, just slightly. "My point is that Mr. Leichliter isn't too different from either of us, so don't be too rough on him. Here." He handed the mask off to Phil and tapped the plastic face of it with a beaming smile. "A bonafide prop, used in countless plays. It was donated by one of the high schools not too long ago."

Phil stared down at the white half-faced mask with unseeing eyes. He glanced at Eugene, strangely. "You really think I'm an underdog?"

Eugene seemed to find this amusing because he smiled, the corners of his mouth cutting into his cheeks and making his eyes sparkle. "Well, you're an unlikely hero, wouldn't you say? You're small, you're kinda dorky—" he smiled teasingly, "No one would expect it. _Well_, except maybe those closest to you." He clasped his shoulder and squeezed. "Like me."

Phil fingered the mask, unable to look Eugene in the face. "Seriously?"

Eugene's smile warmed. "Sure." He glanced at his watch. "We'd better get going. I told your folks I'd get you home before seven." His glance was sly. "But first..."

The man hopped up from the stool and bounded back over to the chest. He rooted around for a bit – a blue feather boa was flung over his shoulder, a velvet hat fluttered to the floorboards, a parrot squawked and flapped frantically to the rafters – before he turned triumphantly with a short, heavy fabric draped from his fingers. It was pitch black and iridescent, shining in the harsh overhead light and showing slivers of deep, rich brown on the other side. Eugene's smirk turned just on the edge of nefarious as he watched the mask slip from Phil's fingers and clatter to the ground. "You ever worn a cape?" he asked knowingly.

Phil's jaw fell.

Just for an instant, as they were searching for a hat and Eugene was laughing at a donated plastic princess tiara, Phil thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something distinctly human-shaped. But it was gone by the time he got to look, and Eugene claimed his attention again the next second.

He knew better than to think it was nothing, but just this once, he pretended it didn't matter.

* * *

><p>Jeff took a large bite of his sandwich as he unabashedly stared across the cafeteria. A smidge of mayonnaise clung to the side of his mouth, and a small shred of lettuce sat in his hair. His eyes were wide as he chomped out another gargantuan bite, and distractedly wiped at the corner of his mouth, smearing the mayo across the length of his cheek. Morris mumbled from beside him, "It's rude to stare, Jeffrey."<p>

"He just looks so pathetic," he smacked.

Morris glanced over expressionlessly. Across the way, not two tables over against the wall, Phil sat eating by the trash cans. He was propped against the wall, partially hidden from view as he shoved some weird pie-looking thing in his mouth. Morris had a passing thought that it may be a quiche of some kind before he looked away. "Yes, but it's still rude to stare."

Jeff chewed like he thought. Loudly. And with his mouth wide open. "Why d'ya think everyone hates him?"

"He is morally pretentious and hypocritical with no care for anyone else's thoughts or feelings besides his own," Morris replied, not missing a beat.

"Yeah, it's weird." He took another bite and squinted severely, trying to squeeze the answers out of Phil's distant body. "But why do people _hate_ him?"

Morris sighed and sat his juice box down. "I have no answer for you."

Mika placed a finger on her bottom eyelid and slowly trailed it down her cheek.

Tristan watched Phil glare at people for another minute or so before standing. "I'm gonna go invite him over."

Morris looked at him blankly. And then his mouth fell open. "You have asked him to sit with us at least three hundred times the last month. They have all resulted negative."

Jeff snapped his head around. "He'd have to have asked him like ten times every day!"

Morris picked up a fruit cup and slowly peeled the plastic cover away, holding Jeff's eyes the entire time.

Jeff pursed his lips and nodded. "Point taken."

Tristan shook his head at the two, his movements as languid as ever. "Oh, chill out, bros. It's _to_tally different now. He joined the club, didn't he?"

Jeff looked uncertain, Morris shrugged, and Mika gestured with great animation.

Tristan smiled brightly. "You're so right, Emily. Thanks, I feel ya."

Mika stared at him a moment, beaming, before she picked up her tray and walked away. Jeff watched her go with a funny expression. "Dude, her name's not Emily."

Tristan's frown was immediate. "Whoa. Really? What... What is it then?"

"No idea." Jeff bit into his sandwich with relish, and spoke between chews, "Jwust know i's not Emwy."

"I've been calling her that for two years..." Tristan continued to frown for three more seconds, before he shook it off and started off towards the trash cans.

By the time Tristan had reached the wall where the trash cans were positioned, Phil was scooted completely out of sight. Tristan blinked, and with a twitching mouth, pushed one of the cans away, just enough to look at him. He was seated at the far wall, as far from him as possible without leaving the sanctity the garbage shield offered, staring very pointedly at nothing. Tristan relaxed at the sight and smiled. "Nerdy dude numero uno." He glanced around at the empty spots surrounding him. "Literally uno."

"Go," Phil breathed severely, "away."

Tristan was content to watch him obliterate a lemon bar for a while. Something about the brutality of it was captivating, but soon enough, he had to ask, "Wanna come sit with us?"

Phil swallowed and still refused to look at him. "What part of _'go away_' don't you get?" Tristan opened his mouth, but was cut off, "It's two words. They can only have one meaning. I also seem to remember telling you we no longer associate, and yet, still, here you are."

Tristan's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You joined drama club."

"I told you I didn't do it for you," Phil muttered just loud enough to hear, as he looked at him for the first time. His look was cold, unfamiliar.

Tristan stepped fully behind the trash cans and stared down at him, gold eyes studying him in their typical blank, clouded way, void of any true understanding. Phil looked away. "You're in the dumps, dude. S'not even a metaphor. You're surrounded by garbage. Are you sure you're sure about this?"

"Who doesn't love garbage?" he said sarcastically, taking another bite of his bar. Crumbs dribbled down onto his shirt. He swept them aside without looking. "Leave."

Tristan stayed, leaning himself slowly against the wall. Several moments of cafeteria chatter passed without a word, until Tristan spoke again. Somehow despite his voice coming out of the blue, there wasn't anything sudden about it, but Phil's hand twitched just the same. "If the world was dead," the taller boy began, almost contemplative, "like, it was apocalyptic and stuff, birds were dropping outta the sky and like... and you were alone in the desert thousands of miles from anybody not-dead, and I drove up and offered you a ride, would you get in?"

Phil inhaled sharply. Just as Tristan thought he might get a positive answer, though, Phil sneered, snapped his head around to look him straight in the eye, and bluntly stated with an air of intense irritation, almost hatred, "Heck no."

Tristan blinked at him. "I think you've got a problem, man."

"Yeah," Phil agreed passionately, his glare heated and filled with broken glass, "it's your face. In mine. Get it out, thanks."

Tristan shook his head and departed with a defeated wave of his hand.

Phil finished his lunch alone, and Morris listened as Tristan gave the sad news that Phil wouldn't be sitting with them anytime soon. And it was sad, because Tristan looked genuinely unhappy about it, even though it was the expected – indeed, statistically only possible – outcome. Morris' eyes shifted some time after Tristan had calmed back into his usual state of contentment, and caught the eye of Mercy several tables away. Her eyebrows lifted to hide beneath her stiff, perfect bangs, and he turned his attention to Jeff, listening as he blabbered on about something irrelevant and Tristan laughed and laughed.

If Morris' chewing was a little quicker than usual, no one said anything.

* * *

><p>"I have to get out of this monkey barrel."<p>

Morris looked down at him from where he stood on the ladder, one hand fisted in a cloth sign that read, "Auditions Tomorrow." It was about twenty minutes before the rest of the club was scheduled to join, and Phil had been more or less dragged here by a very scrambled Eugene Horowitz. Apparently they were announcing the play they were going to be performing today, which meant that everybody he'd seen muttling about so far had been either bouncing up and down or prematurely balding. Phil didn't know why anyone was anxious, everyone knew they hosted _Romeo and Juliet_ this time of year. There was never any change, but even after he informed several children of that, they whined and moaned and ran off to find a private place to chew their fingertips off. Personally, Phil was just ticked he'd be spending the eve of Halloween playing Random Villager #3 (since that would be the only role he would accept), and not out scarring first graders for life.

Or at least, that was his first thought when he came in this afternoon. His second was... vocal. Enough so that a few of the kids meandering around turned to give him a funny look, but apples and oranges if Phil gave a crap. There was no way he was spending two weeks dressed like a homeless person making surprised faces whenever anything completely expected happened. And no way he would be wasting precious time on something he'd never held anything but distaste for when he could be figuring out what his costume was going to be this year. For years now, Phil had helped out with the Wellington-Lloyd haunted house, dressed as a goblin or ghoul or something else completely cliche. This was the first year Phil would be considered a big kid, and as such, he had to figure out something really scary to wear. How was he gonna do that if he was busy every day after school practicing this nonsense? It was time-consuming. There were props to paint, and backdrops to hang, and costumes to sew, and lines and stage cues and—Phil hated just thinking about it. The point was, Phil had always known it was time-consuming because nearly every castmember almost always ended up wearing their stage costume for Halloween. That meant there was always at least _one kid _in tights wandering in Phil's line of vision every Halloween, and it was _hilarious_.

Not so hilarious when you were the one in the tights.

Phil shuddered, and with a single shake, was resolved to getting out of this hell hole as quickly as possible.

Morris blinked down at him before turning back to go back to feeling around for the nail. Phil humphed and turned away as well, thinking he was going to be ignored, when Morris' low timbre startled his eyes into snapping wide, "To what barrel are you referring?"

Phil glanced back at him. Morris' normally lean frame was ensconced in shadow, and Phil had to take a step back and lean away a little just to see him as high up as he was. He had a passing thought that tall people were really annoying before he responded, scoffing, "What one could I be talking about? The one I've been stuck in for five days!" His nostrils flared as he breathed out and muttered beneath his breath, turning his head bitterly downwards, "With zero success."

Five whole days. That was ten hours of his life he'd never get back, as in 600 minutes of misery, 6,000 seconds of agony, and _6,000,000,000,000 nanoseconds of anguish_. Granted, two of those had been Saturday and Sunday, but the overachievers and friendless losers could still come in on those days if they wanted to, and Phil couldn't afford to _not_ attend. But even in all that time, he'd only managed to speak with Sara twice more. Once on day two when he caught her handing out water bottles backstage and snagged one out of her hand, purposely grazing her fingers when he did, and asked seductively if she liked water, ignoring the fact his seductive tone sounded like he had to use the bathroom. She'd just blinked at him, replied with a simple, "Yes," and Phil looked at her really hard and thought she looked kinda nice cast in near-total darkness. He hadn't known what to say then, and she walked away after she ran out of bottles. He hadn't seen where to and kicked himself the next three days for not watching to see where she kept wandering, because no matter where he looked after that, he couldn't find her. She finally turned up on his doorstep yesterday in her Campfire Lass garb with two boxes of chocolate turtles, and he nearly killed himself racing down the stairs to answer the door.

Their interaction had gone something like this:

"Here's your money, marry me."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, that came out wrong. Do you like jazz?"

"I'm sorry, but I have other houses I have to be at, so I can't really talk..."

"You know, if you can't even carve out a few measly minutes for your soulmate, you have a serious priority issue."

"What?"

"Nothing, it was nice talking to you."

Needless to say, Phil was losing patience. Improv was fun enough, but they hadn't done it for a while. _Variety, keeps the kids on their toes_, Eugene had said. And hey, Phil was all for variety, but not if it involved him doing stuff he didn't want to. Like singing, dancing, touching people, having other people touch him, having people fake-smile at him, having to fake-smile at other people because his part demanded it (in a non-sarcastic manner, too—what _even_), and, oh, that one project Eugene had them do where they had to create a character that was their complete opposite and do a short performance. Phil had yawned, walked on stage, and channeled his brother. There was a lot of grinning, referring to himself as 'Mr. Perfect-Britches,' throwing his arm around people, and trying not to blank out whenever he heard someone laugh and whisper "accurate." He'd wandered backstage afterward and stared at nothing.

He spent a lot of his time backstage, hiding and looking for Sara.

Yet still, for all his hard work to not start plotting ways to build a stinkbomb and plant it under the soundstage, Sara did not turn up. Phil was so dejected, he thought he must already be in love with her. He spent most of his free time thinking of her, wondering what she was doing, where the heck she was. The times he had managed to talk to her, she'd seemed nice, she had a pleasant manner, her smile didn't make him want to throw up and switch states—All in all, he thought himself heavily infatuated, and wondered more than once if this was what heartbreak felt like. It had to end.

With this in mind, Phil threw his head back and not-whined, "Do you know where Sara is?" at the precise moment Morris asked, "Why do you hate drama?"

Phil turned full around just so he could issue the full force of his glare. "_What?_"

Morris was staring down once more, his half of the banner successfully hung, and replied, "You are entertaining, possess a natural affinity for drama, and enjoy performing. The majority of the club are openly welcoming and friendly to you. Both Mr. Horowitz and Tristan have the utmost faith and admiration for you. Yet still, you shun us. Also, I do not know where Sara is, as I did not yesterday, or the day before that. I have not, nor will ever, know where Sara is, so you should stop asking." He then turned back and slid down the ladder, efficiently folding it together and setting it aside.

Phil gaped at his back. He hadn't seen Morris anything but calm in all the time he'd known him. The kid was like a sheet of paper, and kind of stilted and awkward to boot. Of course, he did have expressions, some pretty strong ones in fact, but they only ever seemed to come out when he was acting. At any other time, he was completely straight-faced and mild-hearted. In a lot of ways, he reminded him of Pete. Except he actually talked back, had a decent vocabulary and never said "okay," but that was neither here nor there. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Morris just developed an attitude with him.

After a minute, Phil finally gained back his wits, folded his arms pointedly across his chest and demanded, "Who said I enjoy performing?"

Morris turned to him, still as lax as ever. "You told me you used to play pretend a lot. It was implied."

Phil blew a raspberry and pushed back the hair that fell from the action. "The two are completely different things!"

"You said yourself they were completely the same."

Phil raised a finger up and opened his mouth lightning fast, but then – like a cable snapping – faltered. His hand fell a couple inches. After a moment, he put that hand behind his back and declared, "Well, I used to enjoy pretend, but I told you I outgrew it. So logically I also outgrew acting _years_ ago." He turned away then, satisfied and feeling important, and stated, "Besides, I'm pretty good at picking my nose, but that doesn't mean I want to take it on the road."

"What do you mean?"

Phil turned his head to him, eyebrow raised. "You said I'm a natural."

"Yes, but I said nothing about you turning it into a career."

Phil's eyes widened. He looked away again. "Oh." A moment passed. He flexed his fingers. "Well, good."

Morris blinked and slowly turned – eyes on him – to pick his ladder back up, and only looked away to grab onto the hanging end of the sign. He spoke as he walked to the other side of the stage, his voice echoing slightly off the auditorium. "I do not understand why you are so against it. Why are you even in the club if you want nothing to do with anything that we are?" The ladder clicked open as he sat it down.

Phil watched him out of the corner of slitted eyes, pouting unconsciously. "I have my reasons."

Morris settled them into a minute of silence as he climbed, then began feeling around for the nail. He asked absently, "Reasons to do with Sara?"

Phil tensed. He clenched his teeth a moment before responding sharply, "Reasons that have nothing to do with _you_."

"I see," the taller boy murmured, as he found the nail and pinched it, so he could keep its location while he looked down at the sign, feeling for the hole to hang it by. His voice was quiet, but carried well across the auditorium, "I should warn you not to let Tristan know your true motives. He will slap you."

Before Phil could ask him what the heck, the boy in question wandered up behind him and asked, "Who's slapping who for what?"

Phil jolted to one side and snapped around to glare at the intruder. Tristan stared back, as usual smiling like he'd just gotten out of bed.

Phil raised his hand up high and scowled at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were bright as he said, "I'm slapping you for years of not listening to me when I tell you not to _startle me_," and shouted the last part. Then he did just that.

Tristan didn't put a hand up to nurse his stricken cheek. Still as chill as ever, he rolled his jaw a little before responding, "Wow, bro. Talk about weak sauce." He smiled, looking suddenly excited. "You need a new weapon of choice. Maybe a bow and arrow, since you're sorta shrimpy. Wha'cha think?"

For a moment, all Phil could do was gawk. "Are you being deliberately condescending, or just stupid?" Tristan opened his mouth but Phil cut him off with, "Never mind, I know," as he turned back to where Morris was just stepping down from the ladder. "I don't know why you think Tristan thinking highly of me is a good thing. If I talk to him for more than two minutes at a time, brain cells start popping off. Do you know how much brain damage I've suffered thanks to this guy?" He threw a thumb back at him. Tristan smiled at Morris over Phil's shoulder, mouthing, 'Isn't he great?' through a grin.

Morris blinked morosely at them as he sat the ladder aside. "Tristan is not stupid. I do not know why you think that. He has been on the honor roll since second grade."

Phil was struck dumb. He slowly twisted his head to look at Tristan, all fluffy copper hair and droopy golden eyes full of absolutely nothing, and then back to Morris. He blinked several times before he replied, eloquently, "How dare you."

"I dare you not."

Tristan broke in, "I have tutors in all subjects. "

Phil turned to him, intent. "Oh yeah? Do they do your homework for you and whisper the answers in your ears during tests?"

Tristan looked amused by that. "Nah. My parents would kill me and have me replaced with a robot."

Phil immediately took hold of his arm and squished deliberately around on it. "Hm. Feels organic, but it could just be really authentic."

Tristan looked delighted by this and laughed, but Morris could barely keep his irritation in check at the scene before him. It showed in the crinkles around his eyes as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, until finally, after a minute more of back-and-forth between the two, where Phil grew more and more convinced Tristan was a Dino Land issue animatronic android and Tristan more entertained, Morris had had enough. His eyes rolling up, he stated loudly, "Phil joined drama club because he has a crush on Sara."

There was a long pause.

Then a sharp _slap_ pierced the air, accompanied by the stunned shout, "You have a girlfriend!"

Phil gaped. His forcefully batted away hand swung disbelievingly at his side.

Tristan's expression was a deep furrowing of eyebrows and a twisted downward pull of lips. The backs of his wrists rested low on his hips, as he radiated a fine, lethargic disapproval, and Phil was starting to wonder if anyone in drama club ever slept. "I never would have expected this of you, little dude. I know there are some pretty icey cool babes out there, but you can't let that ruin what you have with Nerdy Babe number one! That's special!" His voice changed to a slow drone, "No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. But, like, with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it."

Phil was flabbergasted. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Tristan deflated a bit. "I don't know, I heard it on TV once. I thought it sounded relevant."

Phil eyed him uncertainly, turning a little to the side, away, just in case he decided to try slapping him again. He wasn't really sure what to say. No one had ever known the true nature of his and Dolly's relationship beside Pete. Even his parents didn't know much about it, other than an inkling that she _might_ have a crush on him, as his mom's gentle teasing had revealed one evening and Phil had just stuffed his mouth full of mashed potatoes and pointedly ignored her about. The San Lorenzian spell beads in her room were never spoken of, nor the countless voodoo dolls, or love potions or incense or bags full of human hair or the big leather bound copy of Ancient Spanish Rituals and Sacrifices—and, well, Phil wasn't about to bring it up.

And least of all now, in the middle of a stage in drama club with _Tristan Redmond_.

So, rather than explaining, he shot a nasty glare back at Morris and shouted, "Why would you tell him that? You just told me not to bring it up!"

Morris' lips were suspiciously thin as he tilted his head sharply back and to the side. "I figured, knowing your brash disposition, that you would inevitably reveal it to him no matter what I said so I might as well get it out of the way."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever—"

"Phil," and Phil's previously livid eyes shot to Tristan's in shock, because he never called him by his name, "I never would have expected this from you." Tristan slouched towards the floor, looking genuinely upset. "I'm radly disappointed."

Phil blinked, eyebrows furrowing. Radly disa...? Whatever. He glared at him. "Well, it's a good thing I don't care then." He turned away and marched over to Morris. "And _you_," he stopped in front of him, look firm and vaguely sulky, "I don't know what your problem is with me, but let's get something _out of the way—_I don't like drama club because it's pointless. None of you are contributing in any valuable way to the community so you may as well just lay down and stop trying—in fact, please do. This whole miserable group is useless and if I wasn't desperate, I wouldn't have touched it with a fifty foot pole. But I _am_ desperate, so here I am, wasting my time talking to you when I could be doing things that actually make the world _better_." He flailed suddenly, short and jerky. "I shouldn't even have to explain this to you! How I prefer to spend my time and who I spend it with is none," he poked an erect finger into his nose, "of," poke, "your," poke, "_business_." Keeping his finger on his nose, he hissed out with finality, "You paper-faced freak."

Morris' eyes flickered. "Paper-faced? Is that a jab at the fact I do not emote?"

"Good job."

"I do not emote because I am saving my facial energy for when I act," Morris nearly seethed. "It is no different than a singer who speaks softly before a show."

Phil snorted so loud Morris took an involuntary step back. Phil just took a step forward to compensate and spat, "That's not how that _works_."

Morris' sheet paper expression broke into a full blown scowl. He proclaimed, "I think I have finally figured you out."

Phil raised a mocking eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"_Yeah_," Morris mocked right back. "I think the reason nobody likes you is because you will not allow them to. I do not think you _want_ anyone to like you."

Now both of Phil's eyebrows were extended. He leaned back, arms crossing, and widened his eyes. "Well," he finally commented, "I stand corrected. _That_ is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Morris positively quivered, just before he shoved his face into Phil's, brown eyes burning low and vibrant, and Phil was momentarily caught off guard by his vehemence. "Then you _are_ the stupidest thing," Morris said, with a sudden, inappropriate calm.

"Oh!" an obnoxiously feminine voice suddenly crowed, and both Phil, Morris and Tristan looked over to see Eleanor standing by the curtain, a surprised look on her dark freckled face. "Sorry, was I interrupting?" They stared at her, and her entire demeanor shifted. She placed a hand on her hip, and canted them forward as she raised an eyebrow. "Don't look so shocked. This is drama club, you don't really think you're the first gays I've stumbled in on?"

Phil stuck his tongue out in disgust and ripped away from the entire group, storming towards the curtain, past Tristan, and grabbed a thick hold of the fat material in his fist. Snapping his head back around, he glared at the general crowd, yelled, "You don't know my life," and whipped the curtain open, just enough to disappear behind it.

They all stared for a long, awkward period, Tristan with a pained frown and Morris with his usual blankness. Then, Eleanor's voice echoed across the stage, "Gosh, who spat in his custard?"

* * *

><p>"Sara!" Phil barked into the shadows.<p>

He whirled around and shouted in the other direction, ripe with fury, "_Sara!_ Water girl! Ghost! Weirdo! Whatever the _heck_—I'm at the end of my patience, come out or I blow you out!"

A couple kids peeked out from some rooms to see what the ruckus was, but one look at Phil made them pop back into their rooms and slam the doors shut. Phil's fists trembled at his sides.

"I don't like this," Phil yelled, stomping his way through the backstage area, eyes sharp and darting. "I know you can't be this stupid! I've been trying to talk to you for a week! Come out and face me, or I'll... I'll..." he stepped up on a bench, "I'll jump!"

His breath huffed out of him in harsh pants. The room spun below him suddenly, inexplicably, all warm browns and sinister blacks. He gulped and scrabbled his hands across his face, hardly knowing what was happening anymore.

The next he was cognizant of his surroundings, he was crouched, arms around him, his face pressed against someone's shoulder. He was being rocked, and someone was rubbing his back. He nearly jumped out of his skin pushing away from the stranger, and realized with dizzying velocity just how fast he was breathing. He then realized what must have happened, and his blood turned to ice.

There was no time for thought, no time for consideration. He simply reacted. His hands slapped over his mouth and nose, trying to slow the breathing in the only way he knew, and he kicked his legs against the floor to scoot, scramble, away from the intruder. His eyes were slammed shut, an ocean crashed against his ears, leaving behind a dull throb and a sting in his eyes. If he could be aware of anything but the need to escape, he might have wondered at how little he truly _was_ aware. So unaware he didn't hear the gasp, or the knees knocking against the floor, and was barely even alert of where the stranger was until a hand slammed down on his shoulder.

His eyes popped open, desperate for some kind of understanding. Microscopic spots danced like static, revealing total blackness, and that wasn't right. Backstage was dark, but not this dark. Wherever he was, it wasn't Kansas—and _that_ horrible thought brought with it a startling clarity. His faculties began rapidly returning.

"Calm down," a voice swam to him urgently. "Stop. Listen to me. You need to be able to breathe properly."

No kidding, Admiral Apparent.

"Breathe slowly. Force yourself. In through your nose, hold it a few seconds, and then let it out through your mouth. Can you do that?"

The hand on his shoulder moved. He didn't know where to for a second, but then it landed on his cheek, trying to pry his hands off. He blinked hard and slapped it away, offended.

"I," he gasped, his voice coming out like a hiccup, "am," gasp, "just," gasp, "fine." He wanted to tell the voice and grabby hands to go climb a mountain or start a talk show or something, anything that left him in peace, but he also kinda wanted to cry, so he stayed silent after that, hoping it was enough to get his message across. He made a point to breathe very loudly through his mouth.

It seemed to work. The hands withdrew, and it was even quiet for a minute while Phil tried to perform some of his standard regulation, but then the stupid voice came back again, "That isn't funny."

What did he look like, a comedian? He tried to say that but found himself unable. He focused harder on his breathing.

The stranger's voice was soft, but darn if he could figure out its source's gender. He wished it wasn't so flipping dark. "You were threatening me up there, and screaming and stomping around. Everyone could hear you. And then when I finally managed to find you, you were nearly passed out."

Oh.

And just like that, he stopped breathing.

"You're not fine," Sara stated, without inflection. "Don't say you are when you're not."

He snapped forward and pushed her to the floor, all adrenaline, his torso bearing down against hers. He knew his hands were by her head, he could feel her hair on the floor, under his fingers, and something like skin grazed his nose just before he jerked his head up, away. Wherever they were, it smelled like dust, a little like Josh's feet, and something else choking and chemical, almost flowery. It was enough to make him cough and he pushed a hand up over his nose. "Geez, what is that smell?"

She said nothing, and he was reminded with a start that he had her pushed against the floor. He slammed his hand back down to bar her on the floor and scrambled to gain back some of his intensity.

"You," he hissed, somewhat weakly now. Hearing himself like that stoked the fires of his anger and he managed a purely authentic growl.

If Sara was affected, she didn't show it. Her voice was calm, "What are you doing?"

"I love you," he snapped, almost accusatory.

It went silent again. All Phil could hear was their breathing, his fast and angry, hers slow and quiet. Her hair felt like hundreds of tiny razorblades against his fingers. Until, finally, "What is this about?"

Phil's brain stuttered, then jolted forward like a rickety train car. He blinked in the darkness. Sara didn't offer any elaboration, though, so he huffed, scoffing, "I just said, I love you."

"No, you don't."

He wanted to beat his head against something hard. Since that wasn't an option, he muttered, brutally sarcastic, "And you'd know better than me, of course."

A beat. Another beat. A third beat. She smiled. He was blind as a bat, but it was loud and clear in her voice when she asked, "What's my favorite color?"

He squinted. "What?"

"What's my favorite color?"

It was a ploy. Some sort of weird girl trap. He knew it was. He groaned. "Do we really have to do this?"

"Tell me," she persisted.

He sighed. What choice did he have? "Purple?"

Yet another infuriating beat passed before she continued. "Who's my favorite president?"

"Abe Lincoln?"

"What kind of movies do I like? Where did I previously attend school? Who was my first best friend? What's my favorite food? Music? Book? Play?"

Phil's arms trembled and teeth bared. "Get to the _point—_"

"You don't know anything about me," she said simply, as though this was supposed to trigger some grand epiphany in him. Well, he was never one to not disappoint.

"And who's fault is that?" he yelled in incensed exasperation, feeling her shift uncomfortably at his outburst. "You're never anywhere! How am I supposed to woo you if you're gone all the time?"

That did it. Two hands came up to push on his shoulders, and the legs beneath him tried to rise. He dropped his whole weight on top of her and glared directly downward. She said tightly, "Get off."

"Why?" he whispered scathingly. "So you can disappear again?"

The fingers currently digging into his shoulders slowly retracted. She murmured, "I won't disappear. I'm right here, there's nowhere to go. Please get off."

Something about the way she said that struck a cord in him. Hardly knowing he did it, he sat back and allowed her to squirm away. There was a bit of shuffling, close enough that he wasn't alarmed, before she exhaled audibly and said, "Now, what is this really about?"

He blinked, feeling oddly drained now and glad for the first time it was so dark she couldn't see his face. He managed to muster some irritation, "Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because you've been acting strange," Sara muttered, and Phil snorted. She was one to talk. She ignored him and continued, "This seems pretty... out of character, for you. You're motivated by something, but it's not love."

"How would you know anything about my character?" Phil asked, suddenly suspicious.

Sara went silent again, and Phil felt the very genuine urge to pull his hair out. Then, there was a bump. Above him. And another bump, and another, and then... voices, muffled and far away. He looked up, his mouth falling open. "What..."

"I just thought—" Sara started, so fast and different from her usual tone that Phil sprung to his feet.

"Where are we?" he demanded. He lifted his arms in the air and jumped. Just as he thought, his fingers grazed something rough. He stumbled a couple steps back on the landing, gawking straight up. "Are we under the stage?"

Sara didn't reply, but he was learning to expect that from her. Bile rose fast in his throat, scorching, but he swallowed it back down.

"You've been spying on me," he whispered. Rage had his fingers curling. He heard his own voice in his ears, quiet and scratchy and screaming, "Was you coming to my house first even a coincidence? How long has this been going on?"

Light flooded his vision, and for one awful second, everything was pure white. It cleared, though, and he was left staring at Sara, scraggly bangs, light tan, unnatural eyes and all. An electric lantern hung from a yellow ribbon, tied around a small hook on the ceiling. Or floor, whatever. As soon as his eyes were fully adjusted, he leveled a glare on her. She pursed her lips at him, looking uneasy. "I haven't been spying on you," she said, so calm and dignified that Phil wanted to throw something at her. "Not intentionally. Sometimes I can't help but overhear things, though, and you do a lot of yelling up there."

"I do not," he yelled.

She blinked twice, and looked up. Then back down, her eyes a little squinted.

Phil got the message. Groaning, eyes rolling away, he placed a hand over his mouth before sliding it away. He lifted his shoulders and grinned at her sarcastically. "Talk quietly," he whispered, mocking. "Got it."

Sara scrubbed a hand across her forehead, under her bangs, and appeared to swallow. "Okay..."

Something dawned on Phil. "Hey, wait a second..." He whipped a finger in her direction. "If you've been able to hear me talking all this time, you know I've been looking for you! You've been avoiding me on purpose!"

"What do you want from me?" she asked, ignoring his accusation and sounding so helpless all of a sudden he twitched. "Why can't you leave me alone? Why have you been acting so weird?"

Phil gawked. Something roiling and uncomfortable swirled within him. "Why am _I_ acting weird? You're signed up for a club that you don't even participate in. You're hiding under a stage. You have no friends—you're a total loser, I tell you I love you, and you throw it back in my face. If either of us is weird, it's _you!_"

Sara went still. Her eyes were wide, wider than he'd ever seen him, and her head was slowly tilting, like she was looking at him for the first time. Her eyes were striking as is, so this level of intensity was uncomfortable. He shifted, and she blinked. "I don't owe you anything," she finally said, not even angry. In fact, she sounded vaguely fascinated. "I didn't ask for you to... do whatever it is you're doing." She walked towards him kind of crookedly, slowly, the height of caution. "You understand that, right? That I'm a human being, with human rights? I can live my life however I choose, and choose whoever I want to live it with, and if I don't want you in it, you have to accept that."

Phil's breath spiked, recognizing that he was about to get booted from her life forever. "No, you don't understand," he pleaded desperately, hardly knowing what he was saying. "I'm sorry—No, you're right. Let me explain. There's this curse in my family that's been going on for generations. My dad married his bully, and my grandpa married his bully, and there's a good chance I'll end up marrying Mercy Laporte unless I find someone else to replace her! You're the only girl in the entire school that doesn't hate me and you have to be my girlfriend or I'm doomed!" He scrabbled for further justification, and blurted, "I joined _drama club_ for you!"

Sara had stopped again, and was looking at him in that horrible intense way again, but it only lasted a moment and then she was walking cautiously towards him, her hands out like he was a wild animal. "I'm..." she paused, then settled awkwardly, almost questioning, "sorry." Once she was upon him, she stopped and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, so gentle he almost didn't feel it. His mouth hung open as his eyes darted across her face, hardly believing she could damn him like this. Then her voice took on a very soothing pitch, smooth and serene and washing over his ears like the lap of a tide, and it was enough to startle him back. She just stepped forward again and replaced the hand persuasively on his arm, turning him, walking him away from the light. "I can't help you. I'm not interested in having a relationship right now, and besides, I'd make a terrible girlfriend. Like you said, I hide under stages, and you're more a center stage sort of person. We're just not right for each other. But I'm sure you'll find someone, someday, and they'll think you're wonderful. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. But for now, you have to go. I'm really sorry, it was nice talking to you, I hope you have a good rest of your day."

And somehow, someway, he found himself standing on the top of the stage once more, hardly knowing how he got there, and Sara was waving goodbye and hopping back down the hole like the quintessential Alice of Wonderland, pulling the sombrero back over to conceal the entrance and gone without so much as a goodnight kiss.

All he could do was glance around the storage room, bewildered. "Did I just get rejected?" He blinked. "Uh."

* * *

><p>So he quit drama immediately, pouted through his mom's "I can't believe you didn't listen to me" discussion on the way home, and might have given Mr. Hyunh nightmares for the next three months at dinner that night, but he didn't care. He just didn't care.<p>

Because none of that mattered. He'd just spent nearly a week chasing someone who didn't even want to be chased, everyone hated him, and all signs were now pointing rather aggressively to him becoming Mr. Phillip Laporte. His life was as good as over, but the good news was Grandpa Phil had a spare sock drawer filled to the brim with nothing but half-off coupons for high quality caskets and said he could have his pick, so at least he'd be able to rest in style, if not in peace.

Needless to say, he spent most of that evening locked behind the couch.

Kori just laughed and said, "I told you so."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** THE END roll credits have a safe drive the trash cans are there for a reason don't litter

*hoarse hacking laughter* Oh, if only.

You know if I wanted to this entire segment could've been called, "Phil Getting Chewed Out For Being a Little Shit." I regret everything and nothing. But mostly everything. (that joke got old a long time ago but I don't care)

Gosh, I wonder why so many people have trouble getting along with Phil. I mean, look how friendly and empathetic he is. Golly gee. It's a mystery.

Another thing I realized recently that's made this a lot easier: segments. Yes, segments. These things I post every few months are not technically chapters, they are segments. Segments. (Let's see how many times I can say segments before God strikes me down with a meteor.) Each line break is actually a chapter. Like, if this was an actual printed book, that's how it'd be laid out. So, really, even though I've been calling Shortman Secrets chapters (Amanda's chapter, Zack's chapter, Phil's chapter), they're actually all books. Pretty cool, huh? I knew you'd think so. You're a pal. I'll tell you what, you, me, root beer floats. Let's go.

Honestly I may have already been aware of this but forgot it and here I am blathering on like it's news. Idk. I've been so scatter brained lately. I'm like scrambled eggs, only less tasty and not part of a balanced breakfast.

Let's get to the questions before I think up more things to write in this Achey Nostril.

**Q - Could you PLEASE do something with the Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd twins? They're the kids of my second-favourite and fifth-favourite characters. I mean, I have a fair idea of what they'd be like by a few mentions of them and deviantart pictures (Something was written when Rhonda wanted Riley to get her hair cut?), but please could you write a chapter that heavily features them?**

**A **- I actually got commissioned to do this a looooong time ago, and have another request for another chapter featuring them, too. But every time I attempted it (when I was first commissioned), nothing would come out right, so I kinda left it alone for some time and focused on getting the rest of the Shortmans' stories told. Right now I've got so many things on my mind, working on this would be next to impossible. The fact is, Reuben and Riley have been too underdeveloped for me to work with on a "heavily featured" scale... Notice I said "have been," past tense? It's been a long time, I've had a lot of time to think about this and them and everything, and I'm happy to say I have a much clearer picture of the twins, what they're like, how they act, their backstories, all of it, and I do have a ton lined up for these two. I'm excited for it.

The only issue here is time. I don't have a lot of it, and I'm a terrible multi-tasker. I'm only one person and I'm working with almost a hundred characters, in a _huge_ fictional world with a million details, and I'm still just learning how to get this stuff right and manage all of it while also trying to create a life for myself. I am nineteen years old. I'm asking for patience. Will I be writing chapters that heavily feature the GWL twins? Hell yes! Is it probably not going to happen any time soon? Also yes, minus the hell!

I've seen you asking about this before, though, so I'm gonna give you some more information on these two (because you're awesome and I hate suffrage):

So Reuben is very proud of his heritage. He dresses fashionably, but he's actually not a fashionista. Rhonda is a famous fashion designer so of course she makes sure her kids are dressed to the nines, and Reuben's cool with playing Barbie (to a point). He does have a preference for formal wear, though—anything that makes a statement: ornate vests, colorful handkerchiefs, fricken cravats, you name it. He talks like he's from the eighteenth century (snob), walks without a hint of urgency because he doesn't cater to the world, the world caters to him (snob), and he's extremely protective of his sister and sensitive about his father (sno—wait, uh...). Thaddeus may dress and talk and walk like a sophisticated aristocrat when he's out in public, but he's still Curly and it shows. Most just perceive him as the eccentric billionaire type and turn a blind eye, but others aren't so kind. Reuben hates hearing the "crazy" comments and can sometimes go a little crazy himself if people refuse to let up. He also sees Riley as too carefree and naive, and believes she's going to get herself killed one day. He thinks she should have stayed in polishing school much longer and dating should be the farthest thing from her mind. Rhonda entrusts him to keep an eye on her and he takes that job very seriously.

As for Riley, she is rich, beautiful and always decked in the highest of fashion. She loves jewelry, sparkles, rainbows and pretty much anything that isn't haircuts. With her resources and personality, getting into trouble is pretty much inevitable. She lives for the lofty, but she doesn't know it. She is genuinely confused when people look at her funny for calling a private jet to deliver pizza directly from Italy. Despite having a reputation for being something of a loon, it's actually not because she does a lot of jumping around or freeing animals—she was pretty hyper affectionate as a kid, but that was beaten out of her both in polishing school and by her mother. She's actually very calm, graceful and princess-y most of the time—No, her insanity lies in her way of thinking. She's always saying things that get heads turning, sometimes to the point of neck strain and pinched nerves. She is very, very, very weird, she knows it, her mom knows it, half of Europe knows it, and she's happy that way. She is also completely aware that her brother thinks she's naive, but she just thinks it's funny. She enjoys going behind his back about things and watching him try not to freak out.

AAAAND Reuben has his dad's body type so he's prone to chubbiness. He's obsessed with the gym and cries at the sight of potato chips. Riley takes after her mom and can eat whatever she wants and never get fat. Reuben hates her, just a little, for that.

I just had to add that. Really, the GWLs are almost as insane and convoluted as the Shortmans, so there are many variables to take into consideration. I could write novels about these guys. But, alas, I cannot. Regardless, I hope this helps satisfy your curiosity!

**Q - Will we get to read whatever happen with Josh/Ham and Chris and Amanda Shortmen thing going on there again? I love Phil and Zack, BUT I want to read more about Josh/Ham and then go back to Amanda and Chis dilemma. **

**A **- Oh, yeah! Breathing Slowly is Phil's book, so it focuses primarily on him, but it's not only his story. It's also Amanda and Chris,' just Chris,' just Amanda's, Zack and Sophie's, Zack and Pam's, just Pam's, Zack and Jaron's, Zack and Phil's, Phil and Ham's, aaaaaand just Ham's. And Kori's. And, of course, Arnold and Helga's. And Eugene's. And Olga's. And Mr. Leichliter's. And Phil and Vinny's. And, pffft, duh—_Sara's!_ Phil and Sara's. Also Tristan's. And Morris.' And a whole bunch of other people's. Did I mention Dolly? It's Dolly's, too. Her and her "boyfriend's." And I make those distinctions because that's just how I organize this stuff in my head. I think it's important to keep relationship backstories and character backstories separate. I'm certain there are several I'm missing there but I'm getting nauseous so I'm gonna stop.

Honestly, if Breathing Slowly was only Phil's story, it would have been over by now.

**Q - Is there a possibility that Josh/Ham crush will crush him like Ruth, Lila Sawyer and Cecelia(Helga in camo Girl mode) like with Arnold Shortmen? I feel that Josh/Ham will have the Shortmen luck when it comes to Crush's.**

**A **- Well, Arnold's girl issues were always triggered by his tendency to crush on girls that were completely unattainable. He always went for older girls (once even a full-fledged adult, like what the hell, Arnold), and typically only 'cause he thought they were pretty (and had boobs). Then there was Lila, but he pursued her the most viciously only after he'd rejected her and it became clear she was done with his football headed ayse. I always took this as him trying to run away from his feelings for Helga. Kids may take after their parents in personality and taste, and that may make them prone to getting into similar situations, but everything else is up to circumstance, psychology... Don't expect these guys to be exactly like either Arnold or Helga when it comes to their love lives. And especially don't expect any shrines.

That said, Ham is hot, athletic and a ridiculously good person. How could he have anything but great luck with girls? Of course they love him. Or, at least they do in the barest of terms. The thing of it is, most of the girls that get interested in him are like Pam. They only like him for superficial reasons—the idea of him. It's like Kori explained in this segment. Very few people see Ham for what he really is, and he isn't exactly falling over himself to set people straight. He's reserved; a wallflower; he keeps himself bottled up. Who here really knows anything real about Ham? Anyone?

I've done this on purpose. Ham is enigmatic, and that's how I want to keep him for now. Details like this will all get explained in his book. :)

**Q - Is there a chance to SHIFT Josh/Ham and Kori relationship instead of seeing each other as CLOSE childhood friends into SOMETHING romantic? Yes. Just let me down gently if there NO WAY Josh/Ham Shortmen and Kori Johanssen will not be together. They seem to make a cute couple just by reading this chapter. When Josh/Ham ego is inflated Kori deflates him, Josh/Ham is athletic and Kori Johanssen is smart and they both have there own LAY BACK attitude on being ANNOYED with there relatives for Demanding stuff out them.**

**A **- You've pretty much hit the nail on the head for why these two are bffs. My face hurt from grinning when I read all that. You are right, they mesh together perfectly. But, like I said before, anything romantic is murky water. Just because two people get along doesn't mean they're gonna fall in love, and lots of people who _seem_ perfect for each other have no spark. I feel like that's pretty apparent with a lot of the characters in this story. Gonna keep that sentence vague, interpret it how you like.

No matter what happens in the story, though, you know you can still ship these guys? I encourage shipping of any kind, whether canon with my story or not. If you want to think of Ham and Kori as in love and picture them in a secret relationship, you can by all means do so. I'll be the last person standing in your way, believe me... I ship pretty much everybody in this story at least a little. x'D When I'm not being completely professional, of course.

**Q - Does ANYONE in the NEXT Shortmen generation know Karate/Martial Arts or how to fight like a Pataki? Surprisingly. BOTHE sides of the Shortmen and Pataki family are capable fighters. Pataki's have the aggression and ambition to FIGHT, even with each other. Shortmen are surprisingly Athletic and Patient fighters that use there Head in a fight. At least that what I figure.**

**A **- Well, Phil was banned from learning how to fight pretty early on. I mean, Arnold and Helga won't even let him use forks if they're too sharp, the last thing on their minds is gonna be teaching him twelve different ways to kick someone in the balls. Helga and Arnold know what karate did to Arnold (and he's actually nice), so Phil with that kind of power, with all that aggression and anger towards the world? No.

Zack learned some karate when he was a kid, but he never finished training. After the whole August ordeal, he kinda just... stopped. He has basic training, but he never uses it. Honestly, if someone ever did try to fight him, legitimately, even with the training he'd probably still just freeze up and let himself get beaten to a pulp. He's got some issues, in case you haven't noticed. Really, I think he tried using it on August once and it ended up being a disaster so he completely shut down and lost interest. Zack encompasses the "lover, not fighter" mentality.

Josh is all Pataki. He was never even remotely interested in karate as a kid. He's a huge Wrestlemania fan-he throws his fists at people and goes with his gut, he doesn't have time for all those precise, thought-out, choppy motions. He gained more of an interest in it later on, but he's already got so much on his plate with school and sports that he hasn't had the time to attempt any serious training.

Amanda is well on her way to becoming a karate master and could destroy us all if she wanted to.

**Q - the Sophie/Zack stuff was really cute. but what was it that got Sophie so sure he was perfect for her? was it just that he was the only guy not scared off by her dad?**

**A **- Oh, no, no. See, Bridget and Mr. Smith both went into hiding when they found out Bridget was pregnant. They had some bad guys on their tail, they were on the run, and they didn't want their kid to be endangered. Sooo they changed their name to "Carpenter" and moved to a land far, far away. Sophie has no idea her parents are secret agents. She was homeschooled for the majority of her life and was allowed little to no social life or free reign of _anything_. Bridget always tried to make concessions for her, but you know Mr. Smith—the dude's paranoid as shit and insanely private. He'd dress her up in heavy coats with hats and glasses as much as he could get away with. Finally, the agency contacted them and said the bad guys had been neutralized, so they were free to do whatever again. That's when they moved back to Hillwood.

Sophie went a little stir crazy growing up the way she did. Her first day of school, when Zack flirted with her, it blew her fricken mind. Her brains were like a mosaic on the wall, man. Zack was the first boy she ever got to talk with up close, let alone go on a date with, so it was like the textbook example of love at first sight. Of course, she'd never had a crush before or been on a date, so she had no idea how to act, and her parents' reactions to the whole thing made it even worse. She was depressed about it for days, and when she saw Zack already with another girl not even a full week after the fact, she... well, you can imagine. So when she walked downstairs one day to see Zack there, all smiley and laughing with eyes all bright and blue, she just lost it. Hence the scene Zack describes.

**Q - I feel like Ham is so much more... I don't know- HAPPY in these chapters, so much less reserved. but maybe it's just that he has Kori to bonce off of here that makes it seem that way... no, I feel like I've been getting that vibe since he first opened that locker door. It's hard to tell, though. he just always seemed to fade into the background, what with all the craziness going on around him, how couldn't he? so, is it that he IS different in these chapters, or is it just that he has more of an opportunity to show more of his personality in these chapters.**

**A **- I love that someone noticed this! Thank you, puff. It is a combination of him having someone to bounce off of and being different. He was a lot happier and more open in that happiness when he was a kid. The older he got, the more closed off he became. I'm so glad that's been coming across.

**Q - Well, Doi! I know there was a poem on the napkin! I ant dum beleves it's a not! but, I just though based on all the tension in the scene Zack might have had written some thing snippy in it. like a haiku that cleverly explains how totes awesome he is or a limerick with an innuendo about mike's mama in it or something like 'Roses are red, violets are blue. I have a bigger penis, so screw you.' you know, like that.**

**A **- OMG, sorry, I know you're not dumb! It's just I had someone ask me that already so my knee jerked. I didn't even think about that possibility... That would be hilarious x'DDD But no, I'm afraid it was just one of his usual poems. Mike reacted the way he did because he's a musician, he _lives_ for good music, but he's got serious problems writing lyrics. It's extremely difficult for him. So seeing some dopey little unibrowed twerp crap a beautiful poem out like that with next to no effort struck a royal nerve. xD

**Q - Fun thought, why don't you set up a family tree of all the characters?**

**A **- Actually, **puffball17** already did this! You can check it out on her deviantart page. :)

Okay, that's it for now, guys. We're nearing the end! Only a few chapters to go. Let's do thiiiiiiissssssgnakglnsgnjksgnwhy

Next chapter is gonna be a doozy, so... Any and all support is appreciated and loved and cried very emotionally over—but never required. Support, thoughts, opinions, speculation, constructive criticism... So long as it's not a flame, I dig it. It all fuels the fires of authorship.

Until next update! Thanks for reading!

_**REVIEW!**_


	28. Breathing Slowly: Part 8

**A/N: **I have no idea what I'm doing! :'D *throws flowers and skips around*

Just... wanted to get this up as soon as possible because there's a Halloween bit coming up and I wanna get that up at least somewhere in the ballpark of October 31, so I kinda rushed on this. Really rushed, dedicated all my free time to it, and tried to cut as many corners as I could, so you would think this would be a relatively simple segment, but it's not. It's long and involved and drove me nuts, just like every segment preceding. I'm not happy with it, but I haven't been happy with _anything_ I've posted, so ah. What the hell. *long sigh* This is all gonna get revised and edited at some point anyway. At least we're nearing the finish line.

What we have here is a classic case of SuprSingr biting off more than she can chew. I have been doing this my whole life. Will I ever quit?! OF COURSE NOT, I NEVER KNOW WHEN TO QUIT

More notes at the bottom. Thanks for sticking around, guys. I'll try to make it worth your while. Climaxes and epiphanies and reveals all coming up, and I have a special treat at the tale end of Phil's book. I hope you're all having a happy fall season!

**~The Spice to My Pumpkin~**

**SideshowJazz1**

**coldblue**

**NerdilyNi**

**acosta perez jose ramiro**

**metalheadrailfan**

**KarinaWatchadoin**

**puffball17**

**Jamesbondfan2016**

**Beth**

**Son of Whitebeard**

**hashtagme**

**SPECIAL THANKS: **Because this is long overdue! Thank you to **puffball17 **for all the amazing support. She recently created a full-fledge, fourteen-page fan comic that I encourage you all to check out on her deviantart page, because it is _incredible_. She has also drawn a bunch of fanart and started a fanfic, on top of just being a wonderful human being with a killer sense of humor. I owe a lot of my energy to her. Prolly would've just passed out a long time ago if it weren't for her. x'D Much love, **puff**!

And welcome aboard, **hashtagme**! I apologize for the insomnia, but it's always great to have a new reader! :D There's juice in the cooler and cookies where no one can get to them. Make yourself at home. :)

**Disclaimer: **Some Kori dialogue taken straight out of her original character sheet by **xxP00h67chu**. I claim none of the awesome that these lines of dialogue bestow upon the almighty Thinker of Ultra Rad Stuff, AKA Writer Cred. Also, since it's been coming up and I forgot to _freaking give credit and a __**certain someone**__ never reminded me_, you guys remember that scene where Zack wakes up one morning, goes to his window and catches sight of Pam without a shirt on? That idea was **Panfla**'s. It's been eating on my conscience for-bloody-ever now, so HA. I AM NOW FREE OF GUILT. TAKE THAT MORALITY. I HAVE MADE YOU MY BITCH. and **Panfla**'s brain is a dark, scary, evil place. Sorry, friend, but the world had to know. It needs time to prepare.

* * *

><p><strong>Breathing Slowly<strong>

**Part 8**

"_I've been waiting for something for so long, to show me the answers that I want;_

_a reason to believe in that's so strong, _

_but I don't think that it exists."_

—_Sum 41_

* * *

><p>"Okay, get up."<p>

"No," he grumbled against the pillow.

"This has to stop, Phil, you've been laying there for days. You've gotta get up sometime."

"Why? You never do."

There was some shuffling. "Come on, Junior, enough is enough. Wakey wakey eggs and bac—"

"We don't have eggs or bacon."

"No, but—…" A long pause. "Was it really necessary to interrupt me just then?"

Another pause, followed by more shuffling. "I just don't want you to upset him more, that's all. If someone got me up for breakfast and there wasn't any, I'd be… I'd be peeved."

"Phil isn't you, Ham. He's not gonna care—"

"He's barely eaten—"

"He's _Phil_—"

"It doesn't change that he could—"

"Okay, seriously, it's just a saying! Interrupt me one more time over something stupid, or, heck, just say the word 'peeved' again and best friend or no, I _will_ sic my dad on you."

A sharp inhale. "What's so bad about the word 'peeved'?"

"I love that that's the first thing your mind locks onto."

"_Well_?" He sounded angry now. Phil buried his head deeper in the pillow.

"Oh, for gosh sakes—Other than the fact it's possibly the lamest possible way to say you're angry? Oh, you know. Nothing, really. Dweeb."

"You're the dweeb!"

"It seems like it would be that way, huh? But nope, it's all yo—Touch me and I'll get my dad!"

"What's your dad gonna do?"

"Make you disappear." Spooky noises. "You know how the government works, man. They're tracking us. They know our _every – single – _move. My dad's probably already on his way over here to ship you to the bad part of India."

"Your dad's a cop." No amusement.

"And your mouth is a hole." Cool detachment.

"Oh-ho, Kori. Your mouth opens and all that comes out is nonsense. How's that work—"

"Okay, fine, you want breakfast that bad? Go get in a frying pan."

A low growl. "Kori…"

"That's enough!" Phil shouted, flying up from couch. He supported himself on his arms, hair in whacky disarray, blanket sliding down his back as he glared in furious exhaustion at the two older kids. "Can't you see I'm trying to waste away? Have a little respect for the deceased!"

They snapped their heads around and blinked at him, as if they'd forgotten he was there. Both were facing each other, Josh with his hands fisted and body drawn like a metal coil and Kori in defensive but overall calm stance. At his expectant glare, they both shared a brief awkward glance before looking away again. Josh stepped away and Kori crossed her arms tighter, further averting her eyes. Josh began roughly massaging the back of his neck with the pad of his hand, his mouth hanging a little open as his eyes skimmed the rug.

"Uh… Phil, look," Josh said, unceremoniously perching himself on the edge of the couch beside him, hands falling to lace between his knees, "I've been thinking."

"Congratulations," Phil groaned and threw the blanket back over himself, tucking back into the couch. Kori snickered. Josh threw her a glare, and she quickly smothered her laughter with a cough against her fist, smirking at the bookshelf.

Josh took another deep breath and loosened his hold. The unhealthy white pallor started to steadily disappear from his fingers. "Look," he began again, trying not to clench his teeth, "Mom was right. She said you would overreact, and you have. This was obviously a bad idea. So, I think it'd be best if—"

Phil threw the blanket aside to snarl, "Overreact? _Overreact_? Don't you get it? She was the only shot I had and she—I'm not even entirely sure _what_ she did, but she did it! And now I—" He stopped. Fell back against the couch, a pillow cushioning his head. He covered his face and groaned again. "I'm dead. I'm so dead. It's all over. The curse is gonna get me and there's nothing I can do about it. Mom and Dad were wrong, wrong, wrong. Everything's wrong. There's no hope, no faith, no miracles." He rolled over onto his stomach and let his arm plop down to the floor, his face half-buried in the pillow, and drew out in a quiet groan, "No _nothing_."

Josh opened his mouth to try to reason with him, but Kori placed a hand on his shoulder and shook her head minutely. Josh closed his mouth and stood, sighing. "You can't mope forever," he settled on saying.

Phil pulled the blanket up over his head again and mumbled sourly, "Watch me."

Josh did. For several seconds, blankly, before a muscle started twitching in his face and he suddenly scooped him up off the couch and folded him securely in his arms. Phil gasped and tried to struggle out of the blanket, but Josh held his kicking, squirming body tighter and said to Kori over his frantic protests, "Plan B is in motion. Part one complete. Stand by for implementation of part two."

Kori saluted him and marched ahead. Josh followed. Phil made several very violent threats that were soundly ignored.

The two and their cargo walked promptly to the backdoor. Kori opened it, allowing Josh through, and closed it right after like a good soldier. It was there, in that little stretch of yard, that Josh lifted Phil up and wordlessly—dropped him into Amanda's kiddy pool.

The splash this action caused was astronomical. Or at least it was by a four-year-old's standards, if the way Amanda gasped and threw her arms up as a shield was any indication. Phil, for his part, spasmed and convulsed in blind terror before finally managing to throw the soaking wet blanket off of himself and gulp in a much needed lungful of air. Hair almost pitch black and covering his eyes, and light green shirt clinging to his torso, Phil shuddered and cried, "What just happened?"

While Kori burst into laughter behind him, Josh calmly stated, "The mourning period's over. It's time to move on."

Shudders continued to wrack Phil's frame for a few more seconds before the harsh pants coming from his mouth started to take on a distinctly wobbly quality.

Josh stiffened. "Are you gonna cry?"

"No," Phil snapped emotionally, and sniffled. "I was just minding my own business when two jerks came and decided to throw me in a pool is all. Why would that upset me? That happens all the t-time." He swallowed and made no move to extract himself from the pool. Amanda frowned and threw herself to hug him, her head going just underneath his chin and pushing it up, and glared at Josh. "That wasn't nice, Josh," she yelled.

Josh ran a stressed hand across his face, Kori's fading laughter still ringing in his ears. "I just wanted you to get out of this funk! You've done nothing but watch TV for days, and it's already Sunday. I couldn't just let you go on like that! It was killing me." He looked at Amanda a tad desperately and added, "It was killing everyone."

"So you decided to throw me in a pool?" Phil yelled shakily, and gave a particularly hard shudder before flipping the hair out of his eyes. His breaths were still coming in sharp, unnatural little gasps, and his eyes looked almost as watery as the rest of him, but he shook himself and placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder to try to push her off. She just held him tighter and snuggled deeper, and he shuddered again for entirely different reasons. "Get of-offa m-me, you l-little blood suck-er. I'm f-fine." He gulped in a quick breath and held it, pushing himself up against the side of the pool for support so he could scrub both hands over his face aggressively before slamming one back down into the pool and using the other to slick his hair further back. More steadily, and with a forced dignity, he repeated, "I'm fine."

Amanda didn't stop glaring at Josh, and seemed to realize Kori was in on it too when she walked up to tentatively stand beside him, because she shared the dirty look with her then as well. "You should apologize," she commanded, sounding almost threatening.

"I'm sorry," Josh immediately burst, wracked with guilt. Then seemed to realize how pathetic he just sounded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Plan B wasn't very well thought out."

"You think?" Phil yelled yet again, green eyes wide and wild. He grappled clumsily for the side of the pool when he started to slide down under Amanda's weight, and placed both his feet flat on the pool's floor. "Can't a guy decompose in peace without his family trying to bug the life into him?"

"Aw, Phil," Kori gushed, looking almost as guilty as Josh. She kneeled down beside him and hugged him from the side, wet shoulders, dripping hair against her cheek and all. "We'll always drag you back from the grave. That's what families are there for."

"Yeah," Josh agreed, and walked around so he could crouch down and pull them all into a hug. "Resurrection and annoyance."

"And love," Kori added, her arms tightening around the two younger children.

Amanda seemed satisfied with this, because her face cleared and a hum issued from her throat as she snuggled deeper into the hug. Phil's mouth hung open, his brain struggling to comprehend this much human contact at one time. "Oh, geez," he rasped, "I'm gonna barf."

The backdoor opened then to reveal Zack. He had been walking swiftly and purposefully, but when his eyes caught sight of them he stopped mid-step. The door hung open, and Zack's face was blank. He shifted back on his feet and blinked, for once looking totally confused. "Did I miss something?" His eyes swept over Phil's fully-clothed, soaked form, Amanda's position beneath his chin, Kori embracing the two and Josh embracing them all before he grinned with sudden radiance. "A group-hugging pool party? Why wasn't I on the guest list?" He stepped forward and let the door swing shut behind him.

Phil sat his chin on Amanda's head and closed his eyes, done. Josh blinked at Zack and slowly rose with eyes wide and blue. Once upright, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, taking in the green jacket over his usual plaid shirt and the backpack hanging from his shoulder. "You going somewhere?"

Zack adjusted his pack and smirked. "Going somewhere? Me? How could I be doing that when I'm locked in one of the empty rooms upstairs listening to music?" He raised half his eyebrow and raised his free hand, twirling a keychain housing a single key on his index finger. "Think fast." He tossed it to Josh and stepped to the side, moving stealthily around the boarding house. "If anyone makes any complaints, sneak in there and lower the music, 'kay? Don't let anyone in on the fact I'm out." He paused at the side of the building and whipped his head around, one hand on the corner as he said, "Oh, and if anyone asks after me at dinner, tell them I'm sulking."

Josh looked incredulously from him to the key. "I'm not gonna cover for you," he exclaimed, affronted. "Where are you going that Mom and Dad wouldn't be happy about?"

Zack blinked, and just like that blue eyes were shining and half-lidded, and Josh felt something unpleasant zip up his spine. "Say," Zack began softly, deep and velvet, "Josh. Wally sure is a... silly TV show, wouldn't you say?"

Josh stiffened. His eyes turned to slits. "Fine," he bit out, fisting the key.

Zack beamed. "There's a good Josh. I'll get you a treat while I'm out."

"Oh, bite me," Josh griped and snatched up the wet blanket from the side of the pool. Without another word, he marched around it, passed Kori, and stormed into the house. The door slammed after him. Zack leaned back and observed the door curiously before turning his head to Kori. "Rough day?" he asked.

Kori smirked, just a little.

Zack grinned and nodded understandingly. "Rough day."

"Zack?" Amanda asked quietly, finally releasing Phil from her vice grip to wade over to the side of the pool. Her small blonde head popped over the side, her green eyes huge beneath her bangs. "Where are you going?"

"Yeah," Phil said slowly, carefully standing up from the pool. "Where are you going on _Sunday_ that sounds like it's going to run straight through dinner?"

Zack looked at Phil a little funny for his tone, when it suddenly dawned on him. "Oh!" He slapped his forehead. "Corn dogs! I completely forgot. Crap." He lowered his hand. His smile was nearly sheepish. "I'm meeting Sophie for a concert. Asked Mom and Dad, but they think it's too mature, or some other horseradish. Good news is Sophie thinks sneaking out is exciting." He grinned widely and turned full around, a giddy sort of nervous energy permeating the space around him. It dampened at the disbelief in Phil's eyes, how small and pathetic he looked standing there, dripping wet and lightly shivering. His eyes flicked down to Amanda's innocent, confused face before going blank. "Uh. I'll have to take a rain ch—" He stilled suddenly. Blinked. His eyebrow furrowed in thought. Then a hand came up to cup his chin, as an evil smile worked its way across his face. "Oh, it's almost too perfect," he murmured at last.

Kori looked wary and uncomfortable. Amanda still looked confused. Phil looked… Phil looked mad.

"I want no part of whatever is running through your head," he yelled, and stepped out of the pool like a celebrity out of a limousine. His clothes still dripped noisily, and his hair was clumped awkwardly at the back of his head, but the effect comically remained. He grabbed his shirt in both his hands and rung it out as best he could.

"Nonsense," Zack declared and waved him off. "Go get changed quick and tell Mom we're leaving. We're going out for corn dogs, then I'm gonna leave you with Kori to go to the concert, and we're going to run into some 'mishaps' on our corn dog outing that just so happen to delay us a few hours more than we expected. I'll meet back up with you guys at the pier and we'll go home, apologize like crazy, and go to bed. Easy-peasy." He plucked his backpack off his shoulder and walked over to stash it behind the log pile.

"No," Phil snapped, throwing him a fierce look.

Zack took off his jacket and walked over to wrap it around Phil's trembling frame. Phil started, surprised, but Zack just patted him twice on the back and said, "Chop chop, I don't want to be late."

"I'm not helping you," Phil howled, fisting his hands at his sides and stamping his feet in frustrated conviction.

"Beepers," Zack said casually, observing his nails.

Phil froze. A drip of water ran down his forehead and tried to run in his eye. He whined and wiped it away. "My life is horrible," he complained loudly, throwing his arms in the air as he stomped over to the door. "Why was I even conceived?" At the door, he whirled around and yelled, hands on his hips, "And who plays in a pool in the middle of Fall anyway?" He glowered at Amanda.

Amanda frowned. "It's sunny and I'm bored."

Phil's eyes and head rolled back like he'd been struck. He placed one hand on the bridge of his nose and _pinched_. "Right. Of course. It's so simple!" He threw Zack's jacket off and jerked the door open before disappearing inside. The door clunked quietly shut.

It was silent for a few seconds. Amanda looked up at Zack and Kori with her eyes slightly narrowed. "Well, it is," she defended, and threw herself back into the pool, splashing her arms around aggressively.

Zack wiped a few specks of water from his shirt and smiled warmly down at his sister. He turned his head around to face Kori then and that smile brightened. "Rough day," he said conclusively, nodding.

Kori tilted her head up at him, bemused. Her glasses glinted in the sunlight. "You know, I never agreed to your plan," she said quietly. "Josh and I collected up some board games to play today."

"Ha, you'd really hang out with him in this mood?" Zack raised his shoulders and eyebrow high. When Kori just tilted her head down lower and quirked her mouth to one side in the wrong direction, he deflated. "Aw, come on, Kori, don't make me blackmail you. You're my best friend's sister. Work with me here."

Kori just shook her head and walked to the door. Zack asked after her, "Is this your way of saying you'll cooperate?"

She shut the door firmly.

Zack pursed his lips. His hands played patty-cake for a few seconds on his calves. He glanced down to meet Amanda's curious gaze, as she floated on her back, and smiled. "Rough day," he assured.

Amanda grinned and splashed a hand at him.

* * *

><p>Phil slammed into the wall as he struggled to get his shirt over his head. Shoes were knocked aside and plaid shirts bashed, swinging on their hangers into long pink dresses. A single sock was stomped and eventually kicked to the back of the closet, never to be seen again.<p>

After smashing into the door and wall a few more times, and with minimal tripping, he got the shirt past his neck and down his arms. With a single huff, he tugged it down and ran a slow hand down to get out any wrinkles, the fabric smooth beneath his palm. He glanced up, seeing his jacket up on the uppermost shelf and glared at it for being so far above his ability to reach.

Never one to give up without making a mess first, he dragged the foot stool over and placed several shoe boxes on top of it. Gingerly, he climbed it and placed a foot up on the boxes, testing its stability. Apparently satisfied, he placed the other foot up and snatched the jacket. Now immensely pleased with himself, he started to pull it down, but it caught. He frowned, pulled at it a little harder. It still caught. He dropped his head and sighed.

"You know," he told the jacket, "I've had some pretty off days – some pretty off _months_ – but I think this one takes it." He grabbed it in both fists and gave it a rough tug. "I took my idiot brother's advice and ditched my friends," tug, "my teacher keeps trying to push advanced work at me even though I told Grandpa Bob I _wasn't gonna do it_," tug, "I found out I'm cursed to marry Mercy Laporte," tug, "I joined drama club," he tugged extra hard, "and the love of my life thinks I'm a nut!" He leaned back, putting all his weight on the jacket. It started to slowly slide out, as he gritted his teeth and ground out, "And to top it all off, I don't know that I particularly _disagree_." The jacket slammed him in the chest and he went crashing into the door with an "_ackff_," all the boxes on the stool and up on the shelf tumbling after him and falling in a pile.

Several seconds later, his head popped out of the wreckage, disheveled, frowning and heavy-lidded. He groaned and started to climb out. "Can't I catch a single break?" he asked the closet. "Just one?" He looked up and cried, "Give me a sign, a reason to keep going! Anything! I don't care what it is!"

The closet didn't reply, and that was answer enough. Phil sighed, not the least bit surprised.

As he finished putting his jacket on and was stacking the boxes back in their rightful places, he unearthed one with a small, golden bow, shining beneath a couple other boxes. His eyes widened at the sight of it, and he carefully dug it out, as if it was a pack of dynamite ready to blow. Once in hand, he held it at arm's length, tense as a rock. When nothing exploded after several seconds, he held it closer and examined it—the brown wrapping, the card stuck under the bow, the black sharpie marking it as his own… His mouth went flat and his shoulders fell. "Oh."

He stared forlornly at it for a long time. His hands looked oddly ashen against the paper, and the bow glinted in the pale light streaming in from outside the door. He ran his finger over his name, across the bow; felt around the sides for the creases that would open it.

Then he stepped up on the stool, threw it back up on the shelf, and tossed the last of the boxes after it.

It was just as he had tucked the stool away and walked out of the closet that Helga came trotting in. She stopped at the sight of him and blinked. "Well," she said gently, "look who's up."

Phil frowned and zipped his jacket. "Zack and I are going out for corn dogs," he said shortly, on his way to walking straight past her and down the stairs. "Be back later, bye."

"Whoa there, kiddo!" She placed a hand on his head just before he could pass, suspending him in place. "I'm glad to hear you're finally getting out, but..." she bit her lip, "you've been..."

Phil looked up at her. "What?"

Helga stared down at him for a few seconds, wide-eyed, before a relaxed, loving smile spread across her face and she kneeled down to run her fingers through his hair, combing out the damp, stribbly bits. "Nothing, I've just been worried. You were acting pretty blue, sleeping down there on the couch every night. I've missed listening to your little whistle-snores." She lowered her voice and added dryly, fixing the collar of his jacket, "Mr. Hyunh's been especially disturbed. I think he was about ready to go on strike."

"First, I don't snore," he firmly corrected, "and Mr. Hyunh was disturbed to begin with. And second—third—whatever: I'm still blue. I'm just gonna be blue eating corn dogs at the pier now is all."

"Because of the curse," Helga muttered dully, eyes on her task.

"Because of _everything_."

Helga rolled her eyes and withdrew, but stayed knelt. She huffed out a humored sigh and shook her head. "I'm just glad you got out of that whole campfire lass situation before you could get emotionally attached. It could have been a whole lot worse."

"Hey, I'm emotionally attached," Phil said defensively. He pointed his thumb at his face. "Look at me. This is the face of a heartbroken man."

Helga snorted out a quiet, breathy laugh. "Aw, Sweetie, you wouldn't know heartbreak if it stood right in front of you and bopped you on the nose." She put a hand to his cheek, her face tender. "I pray it stays that way for a good, long time."

Phil grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. "Can I go now?"

Helga humphed and snapped her hand down so she was holding his. She gripped it tight, her face going wry, and Phil's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, no. I had an interesting conversation with Olga recently. Did you know she's caught you running away to hide from her _eight times _since she came down?"

Phil didn't like where this was going. He tried in vain to tug his hand free. "Mom, uh…"

"I know Olga can come across pretty obnoxious, but she _is_ your aunt. She's been just as concerned about you as the rest of us, got you a lovely gift, flew in early just to spend some extra time with the family, and here you've gone and hurt her feelings." She lightened her hold and met his eyes dryly. "Look, she's been bored out of her mind. She's cooked everything in the kitchen, scrubbed the house to the point I can see my reflection in the _bricks_, and won't stop singing showtunes. I'm about three cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels away from herding all the pigeons together and flying off into the sun. Now, she wants to take you out for a day on the town and I gave her my full permission to take you wherever she wanted anytime."

Phil snapped backwards, but was apparently not expecting her to release his hand because he overshot and ended up on his butt. "You _what_?" he shouted in abject horror, eyes huge with stunned terror and gaping disbelief.

Helga snorted and stood. "Don't act all excited or anything."

"You did _what?_"

She threw her arms up before folding them. "Would you calm down? Just take her with you on your corn dog outing, spend some time at the mall, see a movie—Olga's loaded, reckless, and willing to do most anything. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for a kid your age. You ought to be thanking me."

"You did _what?_"

Helga momentarily shut her eyes, summoning patience. Once open, she looked vaguely amused, and turned her body in the direction of the door. "Yeah, well. You guys have fun. I'd just like to see you _try_ and be depressed around Olga. She's the most nauseatingly uplifting person on the planet." As she completed the turn and began down the stairs, she muttered dully, "Just what you need, if you ask me."

Phil's voice yelled after her, "You did _what?_"

Helga rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

* * *

><p><strong>Subject:<strong> _Olga Pataki_

**Status: **_kill me_

**Situation:** _Dire. Stranded in men's bathroom. Only sustenance available appears to be corn dogs, two year old condiment packets and lemonade that is essentially just a lemon floating in a cup of water. Subject remains oblivious to observation. All attempts at sarcasm have fallen flat and subject has twice tried to engage me in sing-along. Will not cease attempts in blinding me with over-white teeth. Eyesight is starting to get fuzzy. I fear next for my good judgment. Sibling Zach is not thrilled, but who cares? _

_My watch tells me it's only been twenty minutes, but it feels like twenty months. Supplies are running low. I can't survive for much longer. If anyone I know should find this, tell my mom I never did like her stew. The beef was always too chewy. _

"What are you doing?"

Phil huffed at Zack's voice and slammed his pen down on his notebook. "Well, I was about to write you into my will, but so much for that."

He saw Zack's shoes and shadow beneath the stall. "Stop being a drama queen and come out. Hiding from your problems doesn't make them magically disappear. Besides, eating your corn dog in the bathroom is kinda gr…" He trailed off.

Phil could hear Zack snickering on the other side now. His eyes narrowed. "No."

Zack's laughter spiked, but there was a muffled quality to it now. Phil glared at his feet as they shuffled off to the side. "You—Ho. Okay, Philly, look. I know this isn't how either of us planned to spend our day, but we can make the best of this. It's not that bad. Aunt Olga's really sweet."

Phil tucked his notebook back into his bag aggressively. "You know that 'bright side' junk doesn't work on me. Just stop."

"Heh," Zack's voice chuckled. "Come out and we'll see."

Phil kicked the stall door open. The hinges clattered with the strain of bringing it to a stop, and the force was enough that it whipped right back and smacked Phil in the face. Phil froze, statuesque as the door swung lazily away, then came all the way out with a short growl, rubbing at his pinkened nose under the ever watchful eye of Zack's amusement. "Let's just go," he grumbled.

Zack noticed his logbook peeking out of his backpack. He raised his eyebrow and walked to the exit. As he suspected might be the case, footsteps didn't follow, and he turned back to see Phil standing unhappily in the same spot as before. He bit back a smirk and asked, "Hey, I trust you're not still spelling my name with an 'h'?"

"No," Phil burst and shuffled out of the room at warp speed, giving him a wide berth. Zack narrowed his eyes after him with a smirk.

The moment they walked out of the bathroom, Olga was on them. She was wearing a green jean skirt, brown belt and boots, with a white collared shirt. Her hair swished at her shoulders, dark and golden in the bright afternoon sun while the emerald pendant around her neck swung when she bent over. "Hey, boys," she greeted cheerfully, her eyes wide and attentive on both of their faces. Zack was relaxed beside him, but Phil squirmed a little and held his backpack closer. Olga didn't appear to notice. "Where to next?"

Zack and Phil shared a considering look. Phil tapped his backpack strap and Zack smiled, turning his face back up to meet Olga's eyes. "You know Baltimore Books?" he asked.

Olga raised her eyebrows, intrigued. "No. Where's that?"

"Not far, it's just over on the east side." Zack indicated the direction, and they started to walk, Zack sandwiched in between Olga and Phil. As they went, Zack told her, "It's a specialty bookstore. You can buy or rent for pretty cheap, and Mr. Young's always got new books on display each week."

"Oooh." Olga clasped her hands and grinned. "It sounds so quaint."

"Quaint," Phil muttered.

Zack gave him an inconspicuous slap on the back and returned Olga's grin. "Very."

While Zack and Olga chatted about pointless nonsense, Phil allowed himself to zone out. His brother and aunt's footsteps were strident on the dry wooden deck, but his own were light and almost completely drowned out in the wake of their own. He had much shorter legs than them, though, so his pace was considerably more persistent. He listened carefully and counted each beat, murmuring the numbers beneath his breath.

A hundred and eighty steps later, the store was in their line of sight. It sat subdued amongst the other buildings and stalls, unapologetically ligneous with a white awning stretched out over the top. The window read "Baltimore Books" in thick, retro scrawl; several stacks of books behind it, creating a city of colorful, discordant towers. It had a single door, glass and painted a pale green, the doorknob a scraped golden shade too old and well-handled to sparkle any longer, and a single white gourd sat beside it. As soon as Olga laid eyes on it, she made a low, cooing noise.

"It's so..." she started to say, seeming at a loss for words.

Phil humphed and ran ahead, unwilling to hear the end of her sentence.

The door jangled as he came inside, and the smell of enfeebled paper, aged wood and pumpkin spiced candles whapped him in the face, as oddly comforting as ever. Short rows of gold-trimmed bookcases stood in narrow aisles, the floors dark, ceilings high and warm and walls varying pastel shades of green, white and yellow. The light was dim and tinted a sort of amber, but the sun cast brilliant streaks of white across the room, peeking through the cracks of the towering books. And to the far right of all of this, Mr. Young sat at a rounded checkout desk that matched the bookcases perfectly. He looked up at the bell.

"Phil m'boy," he exclaimed, his voice unfailingly smooth and free of stutter. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Phil sauntered over to the desk. "I come here every Sunday," he said, bemused. "Why do you always ask me that?"

Mr. Young smiled. "Time's change," he said cryptically. Phil shook his head as the bell rang behind him, and threw his backpack up on the counter.

"Book return," he said. A beat. His face altered. "And, um..." he hesitated, glanced over his shoulder at Olga taking in the place and Zack picking through the display books, looking bored, then turned his face back to Mr. Young and hefted himself up on his arms. He lowered his voice to a tentative whisper, "Do you have any books on... girls?"

Mr. Young's face stayed carefully blank, but Phil could tell he'd unsettled him. "Girls?" he likewise whispered after a moment. He licked his lips and hunkered lower down in his chair. "What do you want to know about girls?"

"How to make them like me."

Mr. Young relaxed. "Like you?"

Phil whispered even quieter, very meaningfully, "_Like_ me."

"Ah." Mr. Young bobbed his head and sat back. "Got just what you need right here." Without looking, he made a grab and slid a thin, hardcover book in front of him. The dust jacket was gone, and so it appeared as a simple off white book. Mr. Young put it up on his side then, revealing the title: _Female Persuasion_. Phil eyed it uncertainly for a few seconds before meeting Young's eyes again, expression flat. He asked, "Why did you have this right next to you?"

Mr. Young sat the book down and stroked an earlobe. "I'm a fifty-year-old, single man," he said slowly. "You can figure out the rest."

Phil shut his eyes a second, tightly, then wordlessly picked up the book. He wandered over to the other side of the store, by the window's light, and flipped through. Zack's bark of laughter startled him, though, and he looked sharply over to see Zack asking Mr. Young in a voice thick with mirth, "Is all you have these frilly poetry books this week?"

Mr. Young raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. "I like them."

"But they're so _girly_. Oh—" Zack caught Phil's look and grinned brilliantly. "Philly, look how deep and complex I am." He made his face as snooty and pinched up as possible, squinting his eyes as he plucked delicately through the book in his hand, a page at a time, chin high. Phil grimaced at the display, and Zack burst into cackles.

Mr. Young shook his head and walked out from behind the counter. "Young people," he lamented, wandering out of sight behind a bookcase.

"Hopeless, the lot of us," Zack declared in his direction, grinning. Looking back at Phil, he shrugged and put the book back on the display, making a show of wiping his hands on his pants and over his jacket. He glanced away, back, then did a double take and shuffled into an aisle. Phil watched him warily before turning back to the book in his hands.

"Okay," he muttered quickly while he still had a moment of solitude, flipping the book back open. "Let's see. Chapter one: Flowers..." He squinted. "Really? They dedicated an entire chapter just to that?" He flipped to chapter two. "Chocolates—" Chapter three. "Dancing." Four. "_Serenade?_ Guh. That is _disgusting_." He slammed the book shut and sighed, turning his face to the ceiling. "If girls were really this insipid all this time, why have they been giving me so much trouble?"

Olga's voice drifted from the other side of the store, and he listened idly as he turned to stare glumly out the window. "He really was very talented," she was saying.

"Thanks, I guess," Mr. Young replied. The sun shimmered on the river outside. "My sister's a fan. She gave it to me as a gift just recently. I do like the colors."

"Lovely," he heard Olga respond, just as something caught his eye outside. There was a figure jump roping towards the store, decked in green with yellow socks flopping up and down her legs—

Phil dropped the book in surprise. The figure skipped closer, becoming more recognizable. Phil just watched, feeling strange as Sara jump roped up the stairs onto the upper deck. It was right then, just as she made it to the top and looked at the store, that she spotted him. Her eyes went huge and she made an immediate turn, jump roping away with record speed. A pang of intense irritation hit Phil so fiercely that he had the door open and was racing down the deck before he was even aware of himself. The bell resounded through the store, startling Olga and Mr. Young.

"Hey," Phil yelled, his feet pounding after her. Sara skipped faster. Phil grit his teeth and jumped over the stairs, clearing them all with one leap, and snatched her by the arm. "I said hey!" he yelled again, infuriated, noting her flinch as she wearily turned to look at him. Her eyes were unusually pale, along with the rest of her, but Phil didn't care.

"You ran away from me," he accused, pointing a finger in her face. She just stared at him, perturbed. "Like I was a monster! You were gonna go into Baltimore, weren't you? I saw you were. Well, don't let me stop you! You big jerk."

She continued to stare, not reacting in any way to his words. He noticed wires coming from her ears then and his finger dropped, along with his jaw. Time seemed to slow as he grabbed one and plucked it out of her ear, staring at it like he'd never seen an earphone before. Then, with equal slowness, he turned his eyes back up to blink at her. Time snapped back to normal with the words, "Did you seriously just stand there listening to music while I yelled at you?"

Sara pursed her lips and took the earphone from his hand, carefully avoiding his fingers, and tucked it along with its partner into her shirt. "You know this is bordering on harassment," she muttered dully, as she reached down to turn off her iPod and pushed some loose strands of hair to the back of her head. She looked at him again and he crossed his arms, his indignation finally catching up and overpowering his initial disbelief.

"I wouldn't be '_harassing_' you if you'd stop treating me like a leper."

"Seriously," she went on like he hadn't said anything, "this whole stalking thing, with you chasing me down just to yell at me? It's not funny anymore—I'm starting to doubt it ever was."

Phil ground his teeth. "So get a restraining order then," he leaned up to hiss, "if I've been inconveniencing you so badly by wanting to _like _you."

Sara raised an eyebrow at that. "A restraining order would be a bit extreme. I don't think you're dangerous. Just..." She looked up, searching the air for the right word.

"Annoying?" he offered sarcastically.

Sara started rolling up her jump rope. "Your words, not mine," she murmured. He laughed humorlessly, and she exhaled. "People keep looking at me funny now," she said, almost more to herself than to him, still winding the rope. "Because of you. They all want to know what I did to get you so angry."

"Oh no. Not human interaction."

She let her arms drop to her sides and looked at him blankly. "What are you doing here?"

"Talking to you?" Phil snorted.

"No," she said slowly, like he was thick, "at Baltimore."

He narrowed his eyes further. "Looking for _books_, what else?"

Sara actually looked surprised by that. Criminy. Her dopiness was never-ending. "You didn't come here looking for me?"

"No. Why would I do that?"

Sara was staring at him again, and Phil hated being stared at. Hated it a lot, in fact. Luckily it only lasted a couple seconds and then she was blinking. "I like books," she said lightly, and shrugged. "Look, I'm actually kinda glad I've got you here." He twisted his face and she amended, "Okay, half-heartedly, but glad nonetheless. I've been wanting to talk about this whole... curse thing. I know I didn't really give you a chance to say anything before, so..." She trailed off, running her thumb roughly over the rope.

"Glad? To have me around?" he said, deadpan. "Y'know, I think they have a cream for that." When Sara just stood blinking at him, Phil huffed and turned his body back towards the store. "Whatever, forget it. I didn't come out here to get into a thing with you. It's just we go to the same school, so we'll probably end up running into each other a lot and I don't want to have to watch you stumbling over yourself to get away every time. I may love you, and you may not love me, but that's okay. I'm not gonna jump you or anything. I'm perfectly capable of handling rejection and I get you want to be left alone, so as flattering as your _fear_ is, don't waste it on me."

Concluding his speech, he finished his turn and began back up the steps, but a hand on his arm suddenly held him in place. On pure instinct, he ripped his arm out of its grip and whipped it out of reach, snapping his head around to hiss, "Don't touch me."

She put her hands up, placidly, and held his eyes with her own wide and disarming. Even a step higher than her, she had to tilt her head down to look at him, and that fact alone made her pacifying body language fail spectacularly in calming him down. Yet, despite being under the full heat of his glare, Sara appeared perfectly collected. Phil wasn't sure if that counted for anything with her, though. She always looked calm and, really, kind of apathetic, almost dead. The more time he spent around her, the more her 'ghost' reputation made sense. Or distinct lack of any reputation whatsoever, rather. She was never fully present, somehow, and even now didn't seem to be truly in front of him. It was odd, because her looks were absurdly conspicuous – (when you finally got a good look at her, anyway, which he'd gotten a few of by now (her eyes were fricken purple, for Pete's sake)) – but her presence was so wan that it seemed to cancel them all out. It had been setting Phil's teeth on edge for a while now.

But then, there was a subtle change and she blinked forcefully, and when her eyes opened, she looked floored. Her face was open with astonishment, and the sudden rawness of emotion was enough to send Phil into a blinking stupor.

"Wait," she uttered faintly at first, as her hands slowly fell, "you… _still_ think you love me?"

Phil didn't know how to react. "Du-uh...?"

She blinked hard again, and gave a small shake of her head to clear it before furrowing her eyebrows. "Are all boys emotionally retarded?"

Phil felt blind-sided with searing offense, and for a long second, couldn't breathe. And then his breath all came out in a heated rush of, "_Excuse me_?"

"You can't love someone you don't know," she stated without preamble, _once again_ ignoring him, and Phil felt coiled so tight he was afraid he might explode into a million pieces. "I'm sure it was easy to believe you felt that way about me, but you don't. You never did. I tried explaining this to you before."

"Oh, what?" Phil turned back to face her fully and placed his hands on his hips, his cheeks flushed with what he was sure was a very unpleasant shade of maroon. "Because I don't know all your pointless preferences? I don't care about what you like, I care about _you_."

"But you don't," she said. "That's the thing. _I_ care. I care about the things that I like, and the fact that that doesn't matter to you, that the way I feel and what I think is irrelevant, means that you don't really care about me at all."

Phil snapped his mouth open on instinct, prepping for a speedy retort, but none came.

Sara's hands were folded in front of her stomach now, and she still looked collected. Her face was open, though, and Phil couldn't detect a hint of animosity in her. She was just making a point, and she still was, as she proved a moment later when she softly continued, seeing that he had nothing to say, "I know I'm an easy person to get a crush on." She sounded consoling, but there was a faint patronizing note sweeping below it that Phil's ears picked up on with devastating accuracy. His eyes slowly narrowed. "You're not the first to try this. I'm quiet, I don't contradict people, and so my image ends up being very..." she worked her mouth thoughtfully, eyebrows falling, "malleable," she remembered. "I can be twisted into whatever anyone wants me to be. And especially with this—curse—thing, I'm sure marrying... a ghost – seemed appealing. Simple. But love doesn't work like that, and neither do I."

Phil positively quivered, and had developed a smile that was so wide and fake that it was trembling. "Well," he declared, eyes large, "aren't you special then? Good for you. I apologize for being such a moron."

Sara smiled tranquilly, and Phil could feel his blood pressure rising. "Don't beat yourself up about it, it was understandable," she said idly, once more not quite there, and whipped her jump rope back out. She turned, preparing to skip away, but Phil quick jumped in front of her and waved his hands.

"Oh, no," he said in the kindest voice imaginable. "You wanted to go into Baltimore. I insist."

"It's fine, I can go in later," she replied, making to step around him. Phil stepped in front of her again.

"Please. I've already disrupted your life enough."

Sara raised an eyebrow at that, and the look in her eyes was a smack to the face. The sudden clarity was sickening. Where before he'd seen only softness and simplicity and, admittedly, dimness, he now saw the thoughts swirling in her eyes, of things unsaid, opinions unvoiced, many no doubt unflattering. He wondered how he could have missed it, how he could have ever thought a girl could be anything but complicated and corrupt, and realized with a distant nausea that he hadn't wanted to see it.

And he wasn't too gratified to be seeing it now, not only because it meant she was right, but because – instead of saying any of the things in her eyes – he had to watch her smile that strange, awkward smile and nod tightly, and it made him want to push her into the river so badly, just to see if she would dissolve or scream or burst into flames or do anything but be _a big fat lie_.

A muscle jerked in his neck, and he almost did just that, but managed to restrain himself at the last moment by clapping his hands together. "Go on then," he rasped, his voice crackling more than usual.

It took her a moment, but she did finally relent and turn around, walking up the steps with her jump rope dragging behind her. Phil trailed after, his smile shattering against the ground and shoulders squaring off.

She opened the door and stepped inside, then had the nerve to turn around and hold it open for him. He clenched his teeth and slammed a hand against the door, giving her a pointed look. She stared at him very intensely for a second, but then turned and walked all the way inside. Phil humphed and let the door fall shut behind him.

Olga and Mr. Young were standing in very odd, stiff poses by the register when they came in, and didn't react right away to the door's jingle. Mr. Young's head jerked in their direction after a disjointed moment, and a tongue darted across his lips in agitation as he held up Phil's backpack. "Hey, Phil, I was just speaking with your aunt. All I could find in here was your textbooks."

Phil widened his eyes. In a flash, he was pushing past Sara, grabbing his backpack from Mr. Young and digging viciously through it. "That's impossible! I had it right on top!"

Sara walked up with her arms barred over her chest, observing his violent motions and the textbooks clattering carelessly across the floor, before turning to look up at Mr. Young. "What book was it?"

Phil stilled, one hand still deep in the bag. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and slowly retracted his hand. Audibly, he grumbled the next second, "Mercy must have stolen it."

"What?" Mr. Young asked, having to strain to hear.

Phil glanced up at him and then back down at the bag. "Some girls at school stole my bag as a joke. I got it back, but they must have taken the book."

"What book was it?" Sara asked again, looking at Phil this time.

Phil glared. Luckily, Mr. Young – bless his soul – diverted her. "Sara," he said, frowning down at her, "where's your hat?"

Sara looked up at him, blinked, and walked down the nearest aisle. Mr. Young narrowed his eyes and leaned his torso around Olga to bark, startling Phil, "Sara!"

"It fell in the lake," she yelled back, disappearing behind a shelf.

"_What_?" When Sara didn't respond, Mr. Young sighed and scrubbed a hand down one side of his face. "That's the fifth time this week," he mumbled helplessly. "Jen's not going to be happy with me."

Phil's bag sat forgotten at his side, hooked around his fingers. His eyes were wide and disturbed. "You two seem awfully familiar," he quietly noted, glancing suspiciously down the aisle Sara had spirited down.

Mr. Young sighed again and sat his hands back on the counter. "We oughta be," he replied. "She's my niece."

Phil whipped his head back up to gawk at him. "You're related?"

"Of course." Mr. Young continued to frown, although now it was more confused than upset. "You couldn't tell the resemblance?"

Phil stared up at the man, then bluntly replied, "No."

Mr. Young's mouth twitched up. "Well, about your book problem—" he began, and Phil tensed.

Sara came marching back out of the blue, a large file folder in her hands. "We keep really popular and well-known books in stock for both renting and selling," she cut in without ceremony, looking at Phil with her back straight. "If you wanted, you could just buy the book and we'll stamp another for rental. That's often easier and smarter than paying the overdue fee. Most everything is cheap here."

"As books should be," Mr. Young softly interjected, earning an upward flick of Sara's eyes.

Phil frowned at her, unwilling to consider the implications of her deception just yet, and looked up at Mr. Young. "I don't want to buy it just so Mercy can hold onto it. I'll pay the overdue and come back next week once I get it back."

Mr. Young hesitated a moment before saying, "Are you sure? This is the sixth time you've rented it."

Phil stared, drooped and unmoving. Olga tilted her head down at him a second, having been suppressing a smile throughout the conversation, then swept her eyes back up to meet Mr. Young's. "I'll buy it," she announced.

Phil snapped his eyes to her. "Huh?" He blinked and straightened. "No—"

"Really," Olga said, smiling warmly at him, "it's not a problem. If it doesn't inconvenience them and you like it, I'm happy to do it."

"But," Phil tried helplessly to object, but was apparently overruled because the next moment Mr. Young and Olga were talking business and prices and Olga was insisting on paying more and Mr. Young wasn't having it—

Phil followed the back-and-forth for a little while, his face contorted in pain and displeasure, when he became aware of eyes on him. Glancing over at Sara's gaze, he sneered slightly and asked, "What are you staring at?"

Sara's eyelids fell. "A little boy who loves making everything difficult."

Phil's eyes expanded and then abruptly narrowed. "So I don't want the book, so what? And what have you got against cheap books anyhow?"

"Nothing," she denied, but Phil retorted, "I saw you roll your eyes."

Sara stared at him another second, then looked away to stare at something just over his head, as if she were bored, and adjusted the folder in her arms. "You should really stop making assumptions about me."

"If it's an assumption made with few other possibilities available, then it's barely an assumption," he groused. "Why else would you roll your eyes?"

"Because he rambles about books and how outrageous he thinks prices are all the time," she mumbled. "It's practically all he talks abou—"

"Why did you lie to me?" Phil asked sharply, unexpectedly to both of them, and leaned up to scowl into her face. Her eyes bore into him, and his bore back harder. "He's your _uncle_. That's why you thought I'd look for you here. Why didn't you just tell me that? Afraid I might come here looking for you again? Because I already told you, your fear is _wasted on me_."

"You're a loose cannon," was all she had to reply with at first, frowning with her eyebrows drawn. Then she said, just soft enough for only him to hear, "I do things for a reason. Just because I don't bother telling you that reason doesn't mean it doesn't exist." Her shoulders hunched uncomfortably, and she muttered to the spot just to her left, "Occam's razor."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected," she recited blandly. "The principle can get a little complicated, but basically what I'm saying is that you should stick with facts, because anything you assume is unlikely to be accurate." Even quieter, she muttered, "Or even close to accurate."

"Are you calling me stupid?" he breathed out in a hot whisper, his arms crossing defensively across his chest.

"I'm calling you," she said slowly, patiently, still to the spot, "nothing you could correctly assume."

Phil eyed her distastefully, stepping pointedly on the spot, and ducked a little to look at her. "And why's that?" he asked to her face, tartly.

"Because you always assume the worst," she huffed, taking a step away from him and shaking her head, finally meeting his eyes again. "I don't think you're stupid. Honestly, I don't know what to think of you anymore. You're just a stranger. You're nothing."

Phil's glare faded away somewhere by the end of that, leaving little in his expression. Something sharp and unpleasant did barrel rolls in his chest as he slowly unbent, and Sara shifted as she realized how that sounded out loud. She looked like she might say something more, but Olga's voice startled them out of the conversation.

"What do you say, Sara?" she asked gleefully, her face bright. When Sara just blinked at her, her smile stretched and eyes sparkled. "Did you not hear? I asked if you'd like to accompany us to the mall. Mr. Young said you have little to do around here."

Sara's eyes widened and darted to her uncle. Mr. Young's mouth quirked. "You and Phil are obviously acquainted," he said lightly. Too lightly. "I thought you'd appreciate getting away from the old bookstore for the day."

Sara's face soured. "I—"

"It's settled then," Mr. Young declared and turned a wide smile on Olga, which she returned with zest. Olga clapped her hands then, said, "Marvelous! This'll be so much fun! I'll go get Zack," and strode briskly away to do just that.

Phil and Sara stood stiffly next to each other. Briefly, they looked at one another and then awkwardly away again. Coughing, Sara muttered, "I'll get my coat," and sauntered down the aisle towards the back, the folder wrinkling in her fingers. Phil looked down and started piling his books back in his bag, doing his best not to grumble since Mr. Young was smiling down at him not five feet away.

Meanwhile, Olga turned down the third row of bookcases to find Zack cross-legged on the floor, an open book scooted half off his lap and a cell phone currently occupying his attention. His eyes were heavy lidded and a peaceful smile was present on his face as he stared into it, and even when Olga walked up to stand right in front of him, he didn't react. Olga took this as an opportunity to observe him at his most natural, free of social niceties and spirited jokes, and found the sight rather adorable. Fondly, she touched a hand to the top of his head and murmured, "Zachary."

His head popped up, and he looked disoriented a second before his eyes focused on her. "Oh." He looked down, between the book and his phone before placing the phone in his mouth a second so he could close the book and set it back on the shelf. He stood then, with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, and gingerly extracted the phone from his lips. He grinned and held it tight between his hands. "Hey, Auntie, you guys ready to go?"

"Oh, yes. We're going to the mall in just a minute."

Zack went suddenly, unnaturally still. He blinked slowly, and shifted his weight on his right leg, grin undiminished but… different. "The mall, huh?" He was very casual. His fingers moved blindly over the phone as he said, "You know, that's actually really convenient. There are some things I've been needing to get at the mall. In fact, why don't I go on ahead of you guys? We can meet back up at the front in, say, three hours?"

Olga's eyebrows shot up. "You—"

"Oh, don't worry, I do this all the time. I _am_ fourteen, you know. Plus I'm sure you'd appreciate the quality time with little Phillums. I'd just get in the way—I do that. I'm told it's the hair, but I think it's just my vivacious personality," he flittered his head, chuckling. "I'm just always _there_, you know? It's uncanny. And distracting." His fingers flew over the keys of his phone.

"Oh." Olga blinked, struggling to keep up with his rambling. "Well—I, um, suppose—"

"Great!" A beaming smile exploded across his face and in an instant he was smashing a kiss to the side of her cheek, declaring, "Love you, see you soon, bye," and racing out the door like his life depended on it. The door jingled prettily behind him.

Olga put a hand to her cheek and stared over her shoulder, befuddled.

* * *

><p>The cab ride to the mall was exactly ten minutes long.<p>

Ten minutes spent with Olga making jokes with a flustered driver, nearly causing them to crash no less than six times on the way over, while Phil and Sara sat rigid beside each other. Once or twice, Sara's breathing became conspicuously deep and slow, and Phil had to resist jabbing her in the side to get her to cut it out. He wasn't able to stop himself from kicking her foot once, though, but she hadn't reacted. For some reason that ticked him off more than if she'd opened up the car door and shoved him out, and his own breathing got fast and rattle-y as a result, along with his entire upper torso going twitchy. She hadn't reacted to that, either, though, which had only exacerbated the issue, and Phil was sure that she was fully aware of that.

Once at the mall, the first thing Olga did was wander into a shoe store. The first thing Sara did was try to sneak away in the opposite direction, and the first thing Phil did was catch her by the belt, growl, "Oh no you don't," and pull her into the store after him. If he was going down, he was dragging her down with him. He told her as much once they were inside, quite strenuously in fact, but she'd merely looked away.

And that was where they'd been for the past twenty-six minutes. Phil had counted, because there was nothing else to do. They'd both been standing by the door watching Olga charm the salesman, a pimply-faced teenager who seemed totally content to melt into a smitten puddle at her booted feet and giggle every five seconds, as it became increasingly obvious Olga wasn't going to be entertaining them any time soon or even acknowledging their presence or, say, taking them to someplace a little less awful and maybe a bit more kid-friendly. Like the crematorium.

The good news was Sara was starting to fidget. Normally by this time, Phil would be on his hands and knees bashing his head into the floor, but heck if he was going to be the first one to break. As far as he was concerned anymore, this was war.

Finally, another two minutes later – Angels, prepare your harps – Sara muttered, "These shoes are ugly."

Phil muttered dryly back, "My heart aches for your plight."

"I'm sure," she mumbled, shifting a bit away.

He tensed. "What's that supposed to mean? No, wait," his whisper grew sarcastic, "nothing I could correctly assume, right?"

Sara's eyes flicked up to stare at the gold chandelier hanging from a swooping white ceiling, and breathed out a little harsher than usual. Phil took this as a win. "Even your assumptions about your assumptions are off base," she murmured, almost too quietly to hear, like she hadn't really intended it as a reply. This was confirmed when she raised her voice to say, "Not everything is meant as a slight, you know. I'm not interested in getting into a fight with you."

Phil abruptly crossed his arms. "Yeah, I know you're not interested in anything."

"Uh-huh," she murmured carelessly, like she'd lost interest in talking to him. Phil clenched his teeth, but as there was little he could respond to that with, they lapsed again into silence.

Phil didn't let it last. With a respite from the mind-numbing boredom offered, he didn't blame himself for being the one to break it this time. He did so by crossing his arms tighter and saying, almost mopily, "There's something very wrong with you."

Sara made a strange noise – somewhere between a gargle and a snort – and shifted even further away, turning her body a little ways, as if to observe a display. Phil jumped a bit, having not expected this, and glanced at her for the first time since their arrival. Her coat was a long, dark yellow thing that hung thick and baggy over her torso, her dark hair tied back with the same thin yellow ribbon from before, and her legs still covered by those infernal socks. It was... a lot of yellow. Phil was pretty sure he knew what her favorite color was now. It was a dry thought, and a little late in coming, but there it was.

He switched his attention back to Olga and griped, "You used to be nice, you know." He felt her eyes on him and hardened his frown. "When we met. You smiled at me several times."

"You were a customer."

Phil stiffened at the simple explanation and said nothing. His expression grew increasingly dark.

An indeterminate length of time passed. Sara kept shifting her feet and splaying her fingers restlessly, but Phil was still as a statue.

"Look," she said, turning her body around to speak directly to him. He didn't acknowledge her. "It's looking like we're going to be stuck together for a while, so I—" She stopped for a moment, seeming to go through an internal struggle, before beginning again with a forced kindness, "I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. The wrong leg. You seem... I mean. We could—I mean. We could..."

"Poetry," he muttered in a monotone. "Write that down, quick."

Her hands, which had been up and grasping for words in the air, abruptly fell and her back straightened. She appraised him for long seconds. He didn't know what for, he couldn't see her expression, but he didn't care, so it didn't matter.

Just as sudden as the halt of her less than eloquent attempt at communication, she said mildly, "I'm sorry I said you were nothing." He flinched, and she went on immediately, encouraged by his reaction, "I didn't mean it how it sounded. You're not nothing. I just meant that I... I've felt really off lately. After everything." A pause, then she stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and added, "I know you must be pretty stressed, too, with the whole curse thing and... whatever. I get it. Sort of. Could we just... start over?"

Phil turned his head slowly to look coldly at her. "Maybe I'm not _interested_ in starting over."

Sara's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then this is going to be a very boring day."

He jerked his head stubbornly away. "So be it."

"Don't be like that," she sounded almost pleading. "It doesn't have to be like this."

He clenched his teeth down at the carpet. "I don't know any other way to _be_."

The silence was thick this time.

"Right," he heard her mutter, and fabric shift. "Well. I'm gonna go to the arcade. If you want to join me, you can." She started to step around him.

Phil grabbed her arm and cuttingly scolded, "You can't go, my aunt's responsible for you."

Sara glanced back at him, still facing the exit. Her expression was strange, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, like he'd just suggested something preposterous. "She's not going to care—and neither will my uncle if he hears about it. I do this all the time. I can take care of myself."

"You're a kid."

"I'm eleven," she said matter-of-fact, as if that changed everything.

"Ohhh, got one foot in the grave, huh?" was the automatic response before his eyes widened, then abruptly narrowed. He pulled on her arm. "Hey, wait, you said you were in the fifth grade."

"Because I am." She nodded, and took gentle hold of his hand on her arm, attempting to pry it off. He tightened his hold. She frowned at it, then him. "I skipped a lot of school last semester, so I got held back."

"You _skipped school?_"

She pursed her lips tightly and grabbed his hand with sudden strength, wrenching it off. Her hand was rough in his before she let it go and took a long step back, away from where he could grab her again. She pointed to the exit, her smile small, funny and wrong. "Arcade. Bye. Enjoy the shoes." And with that, she ambled out of the store.

Phil stretched his torso around to gape at her retreating form out the window, then snapped his head back to look at Olga, seeing that she was still laughing with the oily teen, then back around through the window. After a moment of frenzied inner panic, he threw his head back, groaned, and marched stiffly out of the store. Once out, he stopped a second and braced himself with one eye clenched shut, waiting to see if lightning would strike him down. When none did, he released a tense breath and raced after Sara.

She was walking at a quick pace, but not quick enough that he couldn't catch up to her with relative ease. Jogging behind her, he panted angrily, "This is just normal for you, isn't it? Bailing _all the time—_no sense of duty—hiding from everything—" He jogged ahead, so he was just beside her.

She rolled her eyes. She thought he couldn't see her, but he could. He _so_ could— "I have my reasons," she said, tone light as air.

"Ugh, you and your reasons," he huffed. "Are you planning on filling me in on what any of those are any time soon?"

She hummed deliberatingly, her eyes straight ahead, and Phil found he had to speed up his pace to keep up with her. At last, after several seconds more of nothing but absent hemming and hawing and Phil having to resist the urge to _push_, she said simply, "I don't see the point in doing that."

"A _point_? You need a _point_? O-ho-kay!" He snatched her by the belt again and stopped, digging his heels into the floor, and though it wasn't enough to fully stop her, it at least slowed her down. "Here's the point! You've lied to my face, manipulated me, avoided me like the plague, made my life a living _heck_, and you're _currently_ trying to get me in trouble by dragging me halfway across the stinking shopping mall! You want a fresh start? Well, too bad! Because we've already come too far for that! You _owe_ me a thorough explanation for the all the treachery you've caused! There's your stupid point, now _talk_—"

Sara stopped. Phil stayed latched onto her belt, hanging. It was late in the day on a lazy Sunday, and the mall was relatively empty, save for a few stragglers and dedicated teenage girls wandering mindlessly about. They were currently right by the fountain, the water _shush_ing loudly to their far left, and Sara's head twitched, then turned to look at him with a pinched face. She opened her mouth, looked like she was about to spit something nasty, but then, just like that, it was gone. Her expression deflated into soft quiescence once more.

Phil's lips thinned. "Start talking or so help me—" He stopped, every muscle in his body going instantly taut. A loud wheezing resonating off the corridor – a flash of red in the distance – and Phil's eyes dilated.

In a change too swift to track, he was straight and pushing Sara towards the nearest store, whispering, "Go, go, go, go, go," so fast and with such profound terror in his voice that Sara could do nothing but gasp and comply.

It wasn't until they were safely hidden behind an unoccupied desk at the far back of the perfume department (so she couldn't detect his scent) that Sara asked, "What in the worl—"

He slapped a hand over her mouth and put a finger over his lips, shaking his head.

By the time he felt safe enough to let go of Sara's mouth, her eyebrows had become good friends with the ceiling, and her eyes were wide and blinking. Slowly, she peeked her head around the desk, searching for what had him so wound up, then sat back when the effort proved fruitless. Her eyes were lidded now, and her mouth quirked as she said, "This is just normal for you, huh? Hiding—"

Phil didn't appreciate the parallel. "Shut up," he whispered harshly, hugging his knees to his chest. "This isn't a laughing matter. We almost _died_."

"How so?" she asked skeptically.

He stared for a second, unblinking, before he shifted and turned his head down to pout at the floor. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't want to talk about it," she repeated slowly, eyes widening, before falling half-closed again. "That sounds familiar."

"Shut up," he commanded again, his fingers tightening into his jeans.

"I think I'm owed an explanation," she taunted. It didn't sound like a taunt, not on the surface, but Phil heard it for what it was. Phil _knew_, and he clenched his eyes shut at the sound. "You did just push me and—"

"I get it," he huffed, shortly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Dolly was nowhere in sight. "Look at you, you have a sense of humor. Good for you. I don't want to hear it."

"Well, I do." He whipped his head around, surprised at the unexpected force behind her words, and it was a good thing because she was shifting closer and leaning a little over him in a poor approximation of when he'd pinned her down before. Her face was shadowed by her bangs, but her eyes were bright and immobilizing. "You're keeping me from the arcade right now, and I want to know why. Ever since I met you, things like this keep happening. People keep bothering me and pushing me around and treating me like dirt and I'm tired of it. I haven't done anything to deserve it. But _you_—" she pointed a finger at him, her eyes over-wide and eyebrows high again, "you have."

His eyes shifted from the finger to her eyes, and back, before settling on her face. "You're saying I deserve to... what?"

"Be bugged," she said simply, serenely, and gripped him by the front of his jacket, pulling him up with her as she stood. "You want an explanation, you have to give one. And we're not going back to the Shoes R Boring. You and me, arcade—come on." She tugged him out from behind the counter and into the aisle, past the brightly lit counters topped with countless colorful bottles of perfume and other assorted body odors.

Phil was in deep pain and breathed anxiously, "But we'll get in trouble, we can't—"

Sara turned to look at him, but didn't stop pulling, "You really don't get it, do you? This is exactly what your aunt wants. She's matchmaking. That's why she left us alone."

Phil's mind whirled like a top over this new piece of information before smashing into a wall. "No," he denied immediately, sure that couldn't be the case. Why would Olga care anything about his love life?

But Sara shook her head and stopped, snatched up a bottle of perfume and gave it a sniff as she debunked his entire perception of his aunt (being the second to do that this month, and speaking of, people really needed to cut that out—), "I saw my uncle and your aunt watching us from the window when we were outside the double B. I don't know about your aunt, but it's just like my uncle to do something like this. He loves meddling in my life."

Phil turned that over in his head several times, his eyes darting in frantic thought from under furrowed eyebrows. It didn't make any sense to him, and he wondered if Sara was trying to manipulate him again into going along with what she wanted with her soft, melodious voice and offensively persuasive way of putting things. Girls liked doing stuff like that to try to get guys to cooperate—he'd seen it happen enough times (though it had never happened to _him_ before). He was still struggling to come to terms with the whole 'genius' aspect of Olga's personality, though, and now she was trying to set him up? And with _Sara_?

It wasn't that it didn't seem right, or accurate with the odd way his afternoon had been going, or even that it wasn't typical of his life to be _that_ cruelly ironic, but just that it felt... ridiculous.

Olga was an all-around ridiculous person, apparently.

While he was coming to grips with all this, Sara sprayed a large puff of the perfume onto her clothes, her neck and her wrists, sat it back down with its family and then began back down the aisle, tugging him gently along.

He managed one final protest, "This still doesn't feel right—" but Sara cut him off with a soothing, "Shhh, you don't have to worry so much. It's okay to not be right all the time if there's a good, righter reason for it. Haven't you ever just wanted to have fun, without someone breathing down your neck?"

And words were suddenly impossible.

* * *

><p>"<em>Watch out for the barrel!<em>"

"Hmm-mm."

"There's another one! And another! They just keep coming—Oh creation...!"

"Uh-huh."

"Jump! Jump! Jump!"

"Yep."

"This is horrible! Why are we purposely subjecting ourselves to this? I'm gonna pass out—_Oh criminy jump!_"

Sara reached blindly over to pat him on the shoulder, but ended up awkwardly stroking the side of his head instead and snapped her hand back to take hold of the joystick again. "Maybe you shouldn't watch," she suggested a little awkwardly.

Phil ripped his gawking eyes off of the screen for a second to glare at the side of her face. "Why? You think I can't handle a stupid—Agh, that one's on _fire!_" He choked and snapped his body around, back sliding down the side of the game and hand shielding his eyes.

Sara grinned down at the console.

Phil sighed loudly and Sara quickly schooled her face. Phil turned just enough to frown at her, while avoiding the video game screen and all the barrels rolling down it. "Would you start explaining already? I wanna get out of here."

Sara's eyes darted over the screen, her movements smooth and controlled. "Why do I have to go first?" she muttered, as her character leaped over another barrel and the game issued a happy _ping_.

Phil flailed his hands a little and spazzed out the words, "Because you dragged me here and I can't think with all these blinking flashy lights and obnoxious beepy noises," before tucking his hands under his armpits and pouting at her shoes.

Sara sent him a funny look. Her face was almost white in the lambent glow of the game, and the violet of her eyes looked nearly spectral. Phil flicked his eyes up and felt them widen, his own face illuminated in flashes of brilliant color. She looked back at the screen. "How do I know you won't refuse to tell me after I'm done?"

Phil took a moment to process that before scoffing. "Umm, because I'm not a dirty trickster?" Sara sent him a couple quick skeptical glances. His shoulders rose with resentment. "I'll keep my word! Really! It's not like it matters if you know anyway. Who are you gonna tell?" He gave a low snort. "S'like confiding to a wall."

"Yuh-huh," Sara muttered, as several joyful _pings_ jumped out of the machine. She licked her lips. "How about—we take turns asking questions? That's fair."

Phil's eyebrows went down the same second his eyes widened. "You don't trust me."

"Should I?" she asked distractedly. He growled in frustration, but before he could pick a fight, she added, her voice gaining consciousness, "Seriously, I think it would go faster that way. I don't know about you, but I have a lot of questions."

"Hey," Phil grabbed the side of the game, leaning over a little on his toes to glare sternly at her, "I only agreed to tell you why I hid us earlier, not anything else!"

Sara shrugged. "It's mostly confirmation I'm seeking. I already know this 'curse' thing is what had you acting so weird."

"So?"

"_So_, it's not a big deal. Calm yourself." She jerked the joystick to the left and tapped the jump button. "Besides, you really have disrupted my life a ton. I think I deserve some answers." The game suddenly burst into digital techno music, enthusiastically announcing her conquering of the game, and Sara turned to face him, leaning against the console on one of her arms. A single dark eyebrow was raised almost to her bangs. "And I _am_ a friendless loser, remember?"

Phil's eyes stayed narrowed as he eyed her soft face. Her tone wasn't any different from usual, but her words were clearly sarcastic. Or at least they would have been coming out of anyone else's mouth, his own especially. Hearing them spoken with such airy indifference was just weird. Phil humphed suddenly, his impatience winning out. "Fine, whatever. Let's just go. I wasn't kidding when I said I can't think in here." Without waiting for her agreement, he turned around and marched out of the arcade, away from its dark, colorful, freezing atmosphere and back into the world of powerful artificial lighting, temperature control and chat-happy shoppers.

Several steps later, Phil stopped and listened. Hearing nothing, he growled and turned swiftly around to march back into the arcade. He found Sara hiding at the back of the room with an obnoxious pinball game and had to physically drag her away. Sara resisted fiercely for a couple minutes, her fingers hooked tightly around the paddles, but eventually allowed him to pull her away with a sigh.

"We're not going back to shoes," she instructed him.

"Only if you back up a few steps," Phil said. "The twelve gallons of perfume radiating around you is trying to give me cancer."

Sara gave him yet another weird look as they walked past an earring stand. "You'll have to let go of my arm first."

Phil's eyebrows cut down and he looked down to see, indeed, he was still holding onto her arm. He jerked his hand away and frowned at it, as Sara obligingly distanced herself three steps, and then a fourth, just for good measure.

"Late lunch?" Sara suggested, her eyes lingering on a suspended ad for fried chicken.

Phil stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. "Already ate."

"You could get a drink, I'll get food?"

"You're hungry," Phil observed blandly, eyes ahead.

Sara brought her eyes down to smirk at him. "Was I really that obvious?"

Phil shot her a raised eyebrow, and she flicked her eyes up. The smirk was still on her face, but it wasn't the broad, undeniable, obnoxious one he was used to seeing from his family (namely Zack). It was subtle, barely there. Something about that set him a little more at ease, which made him want to get angry, but he was having trouble mustering the energy. After a few minutes of walking, he finally gave up and sighed, "Have anywhere in mind?"

Sara's eyes lit up.

* * *

><p>"I really didn't take you for the masochistic type."<p>

Sara finished packing the hot sauce on her spicy fried anchovies and sat the bottle down with a soft _thunk_. She then picked up her fork, gathered up a generous portion, and shoved it in her mouth. She chewed slowly, her eyes bright in the blue neon light weaving through the Indian restaurant.

She wasn't even flinching. Phil cradled his tea closer and sunk down in the booth across from her. "Did you sell your soul to the devil or something?"

Sara swallowed half of what was in her mouth and stuffed the other half in her cheek. "First question," she requested.

Phil's face contorted. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

Sara stopped chewing for a second. She blinked, then stuffed more food into her mouth and spoke over the large orange blob, "Yuh shub w'ly sop bwossin' me awound. I's gebbing olb."

Phil's eyes went from wide to hazed in the span of a second. He placed a palm over his eyes and tilted his head down. "And the eleven year old has magically turned five, right before your very eyes," he muttered. "Be amazed, be very amazed."

Sara swallowed and slapped a hand over her mouth quick, her shoulders jumping. She let it fall after a few seconds and shook her head. "The mall is my dominion," she said, not unkindly. "I respect your space, you respect mine. First question."

He peeked at her through his fingers. "How about we start with why you're determined to burn out all your taste buds?"

Sara's eyes gleamed at the question, and she smirked again, already beginning to spear more anchovies onto her fork. "I just love flavor, that's all. I have a very high tolerance for it. In fact, I was the three time fire ball champ back in my hometown. Anything hot, spicy or sour you can think to name, I can eat." She smiled a little proudly, the tips of her teeth peeking through. When he didn't react, she sobered. Mouth shrinking, her eyes flicked over and down. "But that's a waste of a turn. Ask me something relevant."

Phil sighed gustily and turned his face up again, although he kept his hand over his eyes, just in case. "Okay, okay. Let's start at the beginning—No." He suddenly dropped his hand and jolted his torso forward over the table, eyes wide. "I know! Let's start with the fact you apparently skipped school," he hissed the last part in a whisper, squinting his eyes.

Sara blinked and took a long sip of her water. Phil knew she was doing it to stall but couldn't help but be a little comforted by the small bit of proof that she really was human and not, say, a demon sent to infiltrate PS 118 and destroy all life within a hundred kilometers. She sat her cup down gently and met his eyes, apparently unfazed by the fact he was right in her face. "I told you if there's a good, righter reason for doing something wrong, then it's okay."

"And you had a righter reason?" Phil cautiously asked, an eyebrow arched disbelievingly. Just the fact she'd said she 'skipped' school before and not 'missed' said a lot about both the situation and her view on it. She knew exactly what she'd done and wasn't the least bit uncomfortable with her decision. And it was a decision, he could tell that much.

Her eyes flickered with something dark. "The rightest reason you can possibly imagine." She blinked heavily, eyes cloudy, then stuffed more of her food into her mouth and averted her eyes. "And tha's all 'm gon'a say abou' i'."

Phil seriously doubted there was any reason right enough to miss out on an education, but he was tired of trying to fight information out of her, so he threw himself back in his seat with an exaggerated sigh. "Like talking to a wall," he repeated the ceiling. "A wall that tells riddles."

Sara chewed for a little longer before swallowing. She looked at him and smiled that same, weird smile that just didn't look right somehow. Phil was a little annoyed he still couldn't figure out why that was, but before he could think more on it, she said, "My turn."

Phil stiffened and frowned at his tea.

Sara had her mouth open, poised to ask the dreaded question, but at his expression, her mouth closed and face softened. "Are you uncomfortable?" she asked gently, eyes alight with compassion.

Phil's shoulders tensed further. "Um, yeah. Kinda." Wondering if she might let him out of it now that she seemed to be in a better mood, he flicked his eyes to her and tried to keep the hope out of his voice as he not-so-hintily hinted, "I've never talked to anyone about this before. Doing it now feels wrong."

Sara nodded understandingly and sat back. She picked her fork back up and speared several more anchovies onto it before shoving it in her mouth. "Tha's wough, I ca' welate," she said. "Wh' di' yew hi' uff eawier?"

Phil's eyes bulged. He blinked several times and shuddered once, before releasing a breath as he stared. "You're disgusting."

"Fank yew."

Phil banged his elbows up onto the table in exasperation and covered his face with his hands, rubbing slowly. The little restaurant wasn't anymore packed than the rest of the mall that day, and the only sounds were the faint buzzing of soda machines, whispered conversation and Sara's quiet chewing. He savored the peace as long as he could, levelling his breathing, and was relieved Sara didn't begrudge him this moment to collect himself. Finally, he forced out through his teeth, "I hid us because if I didn't, we'd have been brutally murdered by a friend of mine who claims to l—like me."

"Oh, you mean Dolly."

Phil's hands slammed down on the table. "How the heck did you know that?" he shouted, his voice grating in the previously cool atmosphere.

Sara's eyes were a little wide now, and her cup of water hovered frozen in front of her lips as she stared at his stricken face. Ha. He actually managed to surprise her. He fancied he'd have felt rather triumphant right then had his brain not been fizzling. After a tense moment, Sara exhaled slowly and sat her cup back down, her fingers still tight around the base. "Most people know about your girlfriend," she said quietly, consciously. "She's almost as infamous as you are."

"Know about my..." Phil mouthed, then crashed down against the table with a groan. "She's _not_ my girlfriend. She's _never been_ my girlfriend."

Sara carefully slid her styrofoam container away from his sagged corpse, her face thoughtful. "I was wondering about that," she murmured, tapping her paper cup.

Phil drudged his head out of his arms and stared forward, eyes unseeing and shiny with misery. His arms spread out to grab hold of the table as an anchor. "It started in second grade shortly after a trip our families took to Central America. We were friends before, just friends. I still don't—" He stopped suddenly. He blinked. He blinked again, then lifted his head to stare at her. "Almost as infamous as me... But that..." All other brain function skidded to a halt. "You... You _did_ know who I was when we met."

Sara had been sipping at her drink while he had his realization, and now sat it against the wall so she could support her face in her hands. "Yeah."

"And you didn't run screaming."

She gave a light snort. "No."

Phil's eyes narrowed, first with incomprehension, and then with rising offense. "Was—Was I like a _science experiment_ to you?"

Sara smiled and shook her head, like he'd just made an endearingly bad joke. "I didn't go there on purpose to observe you. I didn't even know you lived there. I'd seen you in the halls and heard tons of stories, but I never thought I'd get to talk to you. It was... surprising."

Phil blinked, disturbed. He slid at a snail's speed back into his seat. Several seconds passed as this occurred, and then... "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you run? Didn't you hate me?"

Sara actually narrowed her eyes at that, and for the first time since he'd met her, she looked overtly mad. Her hands dropped against the table and her posture straightened. "Why? Because of rumors? All the bad-mouthing surrounding you is about you being smart, which there's nothing wrong with, or annoying, which everyone is, or having a big mouth, and I didn't even know what that meant. I mean, you always looked angry, so I figured it probably had something to do with that, but I had no way of knowing." She blinked the emotion out of her eyes, and a small, ironic smile wriggled suddenly across her mouth. "I do now, but. Anger's just a defense. It's nothing to hate anyone about. We all get mad sometimes." The anger settled back on her face, even stronger than before, and she glared down at her hands. "You always have to acclimate to society, society never acclimates to you. It's… not right. If I believed in rumors, then I'd also have to believe I'm a stupid attention-starved narcissistic snob." She puffed out a heavy breath, her eyes oddly shiny, then the anger fell away and, with a hand running over her face, her breathing became smooth and even once again. She sighed then and let her cheek fall down against her palm with a light smack as she looked at him with her usual despondence. "They don't mean anything. It's just kids being kids."

Phil stared at her, his face blank and eyes slightly wide. A pin could be heard dropping from full across the room. The woman who dropped it quickly picked it back up, hooked it back in her dress, and shuffled out of the restaurant. Sara flicked her eyes over to watch this, but Phil's eyes stayed bulleted to her face.

The memory of their first meeting played in a fast black-and-white loop in his head, her words the grainy soundtrack, while he considered how they connected to one another. She'd known his reputation then. She'd known all along, and she hadn't cared. She'd been caught off guard at first, that was obvious, but after that it was almost as if she'd gone out of her way to be nice to him. Sure, she'd only done it because she wanted to make a sale, but… She'd still treated him like a regular person. She'd still smiled and respected his space and talked to him like he mattered. She'd even apologized to him when she thought she might have offended him.

And he'd called her a loser and slammed the door in her face.

Guilt tore through him, landing in a swirling, uncomfortable knot high in his chest—along with something else, something softer that he didn't have the heart to analyze. The restaurant was even quieter than before.

He blinked. Exhaled. "Why," he started, but his voice cracked, sounding foreign and faraway to his own ears. He slid his palms closer, down the table, and tried again, "Why are you so weird?"

Sara snapped her eyes back to him and frowned, her head lifting slightly from her hand. "What?"

He tried to shake himself out of this strange mood that had settled over him. Didn't work. He sighed and sat back, resigned, and said, "Everything about you. Just..." he waved a hand in the air, multiple thoughts occurring to him at once and scrambling his brain, and was relieved to feel a modicum of irritation, "you—When you came to the boarding house, you wanted to sit out on the stoop and wait, instead of moving on down the neighborhood. What was that about?"

Sara's mouth grew small. "Isn't it my turn to ask a question?"

"Don't change the subject," he tiredly requested.

Sara looked surprised at not being outright commanded, and then a little uncomfortable, like she'd just noticed the mood that had settled around them. She shifted in her seat, awkwardly slid her food back over and picked around, her face tilted down. "My mom had to go early to work, so I just figured that... um..."

Phil's mouth pulled to one side, flummoxed. "And before, Mr. Young said you keep dropping your hat in the lake."

"That..."

"And you don't fake the accent."

"I... uh..."

"And you're in drama club, but you spend it hiding under a stage and handing out water."

"Well—"

"And you don't talk to anyone."

Sara let her fork clatter onto the table and lifted her head, looking lost and a little aggravated. "Stop, I don't want to talk about—" She stopped, and her mouth snapped shut. Phil had to smirk, just a little. She caught sight of it and suddenly shoved an anchovy in her mouth, chewed it up a little, and then said, "Okay, fine." She paused a moment, taking in the barely restrained cringe on his face, before continuing sedately between chews, "My mom's been worried about me since we left Maryland, so she had me sign up for some clubs. I didn't want to, but I knew she'd quit worrying if I went along with it, so... I did. I personally picked out Drama, because I knew Mr. Horowitz wouldn't force me to do anything I wasn't comfortable with." She chewed a little faster and her eyes shifted. "But my mom wanted me to join the Campfire Lasses specifically because she knew I'd _have_ to interact with people, and there's a ton of stuff they make you do." She swallowed.

Alarm, skepticism and disgust all battled for dominance on Phil's face. "That doesn't answer any of my questions."

Sara shook her head, her ghostly countenance restored, and closed the lid on the last scraps of her food, pushing herself taller against the booth. "It answers all of them. Are you ready to go?"

Phil blinked up at her, vague disgust having finally won, then sent a quick look down at his untouched darjeeling. He picked it up with a roll of his eyes. "Oh, sure. Back to shoe central. Boy oh boy."

As he knew she would, she slouched back into her seat. Phil pointedly sat his cup back down and laughed at her for not thinking that one through, the sound frighteningly unrestrained and slightly off kilter. It was disturbing enough to his own ears that anything that had been genuine in his amusement was killed, but the laughter didn't stop pouring forth. Sara flicked her eyes to him and pressed her lips into a line.

"How do you know my uncle?" she asked suddenly.

Phil put a finger up to indicate for her to wait as he laughed and laughed and took a quick sip of his tea before it got totally cold then laughed some more. Sara blinked, unimpressed, and that look got him to stop immediately and flatly inquire, "Is he _really_ your uncle?"

Sara's blank look turned slightly bewildered. "Of course. Couldn't you tell the resemblance?"

Phil's face somehow managed to go even flatter before his eyes blinked and returned to their usual hooded state. "No. But anyway…" He took a long, leisurely moment to swallow down half of his tea, aware of Sara's eyes on him the whole time, then slowly – very slowly – sat it down and gave a soft refreshed sigh. After smacking his lips for several seconds into her frowning face, he asked flatly, "Not so fun when you're on the other end of the stick, is it?"

Sara's eyes went abnormally wide. Her expression was a peculiar one right before she slapped her hand over her mouth and shut her eyes. Phil was momentarily alarmed, wondering if she was holding back puke or something, but after a few moments, she let the hand fall and regarded him with passing composure. "I answered several questions for you, now you have to answer."

The distraction worked. A scoff burst from Phil's mouth. "I think we have very different opinions on what constitutes an answer!"

"Actually—"

Phil rolled his eyes. "I've been going to Baltimore for years. It's my brother and I's tradition to get corn dogs and check out the new books every Sunday. There, happy? Now—"

"I've been there almost every day," Sara interrupted. "For three months."

Phil clapped his mouth shut at that and furrowed his eyebrows. "You've been... And we never once ran into each other—"

"Apparently."

"So we've been missing each other for weeks." His frown deepened. "That's... kinda..."

"Creepy," they finished in unison, and stared at each other. The blue neon light above them flickered.

Phil gave a long blink and shook himself, his eyes narrowing. "You're trying to distract me." Sara's cool, peaceful blink confirmed this and he harrumphed. "Well, too bad! I want answers! _Real_ answers!"

"What was the book Mercy stole?" Sara asked.

Phil choked on fresh outrage.

While he spluttered incoherent half-words and sentences, Sara smiled slightly and watched him with her unwavering lavender gaze, and Phil forced all the things trying to stumble out of his mouth back down his throat with an ugly coughing sound, his chest slightly heaving as he glared heatedly at her. Her smile widened a quarter. "It's okay," she said softly. "You don't have to tell me. This way I can just assume it was _Why Do Men Have Nipples_. Or _How to Win in the Fight Against Gastric Dumping Syndrome_; _The Big Book of Lesbian Horse Stories_;_ The Girls Book to Glamour—_Or maybe even _Castration: The Advantages and Disadvantages_." She matched her fingers, stretched them out against each other and gave a light shrug. "BB is filled with weird books. It could be... anything."

"I'm not going to tell you!" Phil yelped with a stunned look.

"I said you didn't have to."

"You can't avoid answering me forever!"

"I don't know, I'm succeeding so far."

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"I'm sure."

Phil's beeper buzzed and he froze. His mouth was open to yell and his legs had scooched up on the booth seat to give him added height, but at the vibration in his side, he blinked, and the stunned look was replaced with fear. He scrabbled in his pants pocket to pull it out, and his hands trembled a little as he read the message. Sara watched with interest as Phil grew increasingly tense. "It's my aunt," he stuttered over heavy breathing. "She's upset and wants to know where we are." His face went hot with shame and righteous fury as he snapped his eyes on her. "I told you we shouldn't have left!"

Sara's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Whoops."

"_Whoops?!_"

"Lemme see." She reached over and tugged at the beeper. He let it go numbly, and she examined it for a few seconds in mild confusion before shrugging and punching in a reply. After a minute, she sent it, and turned her head up to face him again. Phil's face twitched, and she blinked. Finally, the beeper buzzed again and Sara looked down at the screen. She smiled at it then and set it down on the table in front of him. "There we go. Problem solved. Let's go window shop." Without waiting for an answer, she slid out of the booth with her food and cup and walked over to toss them in the trash.

Phil gaped at her back and snatched the beeper up to read Olga's reply. _OK u kids have fun! B safe and stick 2gether! _ran across the screen in stiff digital lettering. Phil almost dropped it, but scrambled the last second to steady it and hurriedly stuffed it back in his pocket as he slid out onto his feet. "What the heck did you say?" he asked in a high voice, scuffling after her as she walked out of the restaurant.

Sara didn't turn to look at him as she answered, "That we got bored and went to explore. We're meeting back up with her at the fountain in an hour."

Phil caught up to her side and looked at her incredulously. "And she was okay with that."

"I told you she wouldn't care." She breathed deeply through her nose, like she smelled something good, and skimmed the passing windows with moderate interest. Her hands hung at her sides, lightly swinging.

Phil crossed his arms as he walked beside her. "Why an hour? We're still gonna be out for two."

"I have to be getting back in an hour. Uncle said."

"Oh." Phil glanced around, already beginning to grow bored. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He tilted his head up at her and smirked toothily. "Great. An hour's plenty of time to get you to give me a straight answer."

Sara twisted her head to look curiously at him. "Why do you have a pager?"

The smirk disappeared, and he hopped on his toes to point a wry, reprimanding finger at her. "Oh no, enough with your deflecting. I demand answers!"

Sara's face shifted into something more serious, albeit discomfited, if the way her arms pulled up and eyes darted around in short, dancing patterns was anything to go by. "You didn't really give me a real answer about why we ran away from your..." a struggle was present in her shoulders, and her eyes flicked briefly up, "from Dolly. So I don't see why I should have to give thorough answers, either." An eyebrow went up and her eyes widened by a narrow margin, her chin tilting up. "That is unless you'd like to elaborate."

Phil didn't so much deflate as he did... pop, all at once falling back flat on his feet and slumping over. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and grumbled, "No."

Sara's smile was soft and knowing. "Okay then." She looked around for a few seconds, as if to check that the coast was clear, before facing him again. "Pager?"

Phil looked at her through one squinting eye, and said nothing for a long time. Their footsteps were quiet and in tune, but he blocked them out in favor of the mental hum currently vibrating in his skull. Finally, he clenched his teeth slightly, exhaled in a gust through his nostrils, and blinked his eyes to the floor. "My grandpa runs an electronics empire..." he began begrudgingly, in a quiet sulk. "He has thousands of the things in stock from back when they were still current. He's been trying to unload them for years. Every holiday he can get away with, he doles them out: Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, Arbor Day. Even on Halloween, instead of candy he just hands out beepers." He threw his hands up in a lazy display of exasperation, more venting than explaining now. "He gave this geeky Dracula a concussion last year from throwing one at him when he tried to run away, and then sent a gift basket full of beepers to the hospital the next day as an apology. I have around thirty, all of different colors and types."

Sara was biting her lip when she looked away. "Oh."

Phil eyed her resentfully. "Anymore questions?" Sara opened her mouth, but he was counting on that and spoke again with quick, aggressive precision, "Because I sure don't. If neither of us is going to give real answers to anything important, then this is pointless."

Sara's eyes flicked to his before falling to the floor, her mouth closing soundlessly. She didn't say anything more, and the silence was filled only with the sounds of their steps and the occasional muted dissonance of mall-related activity.

They walked like this for a long time, and for once, Phil was happy for the lull; it gave him some time to think and process all that had taken place in the last hour. Had it really only been a little over sixty minutes ago that his only plans for the day had been watching TV with Ernie and taking a nap? It felt like ages, but the weariness in his tendons served as a reminder of the truth, however improbable. He was walking beside Sara, the very same girl who had spiraled him into such a pathetic state in the first place, on a shopping trip with his aunt, and he was not in love with her, but he didn't hate her, either, and that was confusing. He felt annoyance and frustration, but they were more subdued than usual, and the steady stream of contempt that had been running so shallow beneath the surface of his thoughts had dried up in the face of...

Despite his reputation and whatever may burst out of his mouth in the heat of the moment, he did not actually hate many – if truly any – people. His recent 'realization' that he hated Mercy and her minions was more a quibble of terms based on common sense, because Mercy clearly despised him and her mere existence made him want to move to another galaxy so he figured if hate felt like anything, it was that. The feelings backing it up were tepid, though, almost passive at times, as if he'd long ago lost the ability to feel much of anything about the situation. He imagined hate, true hate, was probably more of a constant burn that rose and whipped and consumed without any conceivable end, like in the movies, and this was... more like the coals after a fire had gone out, still red and glowing and ready to either burst into an inferno or puff into smoke at the slightest provocation. He felt anger, he felt immense, vast dislike and indignation and shame and many other things he'd never bothered to identify and still refused to even now, but real, genuine hate was... something of a foreign concept. Few people in the world were horrible enough to warrant _real_ hatred.

Even still, the word was never far from his thoughts, and in Sara's case, had been popping up frequently, waving and flickering and demanding his attention, just before she said something or did something or looked at him in a certain way and that flicker would just... die. Like a defective jack-in-the-box, constantly appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. And it was that, the fact that it _was_ defective, that truly inspired his ire. That the majority of his contempt had been pushed aside to house a well of guilt was just... ridiculous, and he felt extremely uncomfortable, like a sheep without its wool. Just the comparison made him want to shiver at its accuracy. How had his day turned into this?

He had thought she was a lie, and he still didn't trust her as far as he could run in the span of a nanosecond, but there was... something. Because she had known who he was when they first met, and it hadn't mattered one bit that nobody liked him. That he was annoying and always said the wrong thing and yelled and glared and was himself. It hadn't mattered at all, and that somehow meant that it did, and it was something.

It was something that he clearly got under her skin and her feelings were mixed and jumbled regarding him and she could look so lost at times but she kept smiling anyway, she kept trying and giving him chance after chance and looking at him with eyes filled with nothing even close to disgust, and she was probably the stupidest person he'd ever met because of all that but for once it didn't bother him. It bothered him that it _didn't_ bother him, but the fact itself did... not.

And as Sara's eyes caught sight of something in a store and she went trotting in without so much as a warning or glance, and he sighed loudly and jogged in after her, he thought that maybe...

Maybe.

* * *

><p>Zack had never been happier that the Johanssens lived so close to the docks. It was still a long run to get there, but it was eons better than trying to race all the way to Tina Park. Though originally he thought he'd just grab a cab or find a bus stop, and knew that his aunt likely assumed he'd be doing one of the two as well, he had to save his money for the concert and the next bus wouldn't be coming around for another twenty minutes, which he simply didn't have the time for. So run he did, and aching legs or not, he was happy to do it. There was an exhilaration in running that he didn't often get to feel anymore since he stopped playing sports, and the cool air whipping through his hair and stinging his cheeks was refreshing and nostalgic. Once at the Johanssen household, convincing Jaron to lend him his bike was a simple thing, and the ride to the park was a breeze—not to mention, not that far from the mall.<p>

As usual, this was almost too easy, Zack thought with a wistful sigh. Just for once he'd like something to be at least a _little_ challenging. Life could get so boring otherwise.

Nevertheless, he made it there in just under twenty minutes, just as the show was about to start. It was an alternative rock concert some bands were putting on for relatively cheap, and the park was loaded with teenagers and adults alike, some with chairs and coolers and blankets they'd had the forethought to bring, others watching from a distance in their cars, and most just standing around, awkwardly sitting in the wet grass or muttling about like a flock of aimless geese. It was rather beautiful, Zack would say, with how the sun appeared to set fire to the swooping white tent just over the stage.

He thought it was kind of stupid that his parents didn't want him to come. He knew 'too mature' wasn't the real reason—or at least not the whole one. He was plenty mature. Really.

Probably.

For the most part.

He thought it probably had something more to do with the whole rock scene in general. They didn't have a problem with him listening to it, but apparently taking an _active role_ in listening and hanging out with other fans was a big no-no. Or at least that seemed to be his mom's point of view. She'd been a huge metal head and rocker in her teenage years, and had spent many slow afternoons, late nights and early mornings at concerts, which... was the extent of his knowledge about it. She'd been rubbing gingerly at her ear piercing and wincing uncomfortably as she disclosed even that much about her past. But that was okay, it left more up to interpretation, and Zack got a real kick out of imagining his mom screaming at the top of her lungs as she swung his dad's plaid boxers over her head and poured beer over other screaming people's heads and accidentally elbowed people in the face. Zack snickered just _thinking_ about thinking about it. He guessed picturing her fourteen-year-old son doing those sorts of things probably wasn't as fun for her, but that didn't make it any less stupid. Zack would never be that crazed or out of control, not to mention completely irresponsible. He did have _some_ class, thank you very much.

Really.

Probably.

For the most part.

Anyway, his parents were being unreasonable, so Zack didn't feel too bad about going behind their backs about this. It was just a concert. With a beautiful girl.

Speaking of which, Zack shielded his eyes with a hand and squinted through the crowd, searching for a head of smooth black hair as he joined his goosian brethren in their wanderlust.

Two minutes of waddling later, he felt someone grab him by the arm and snatch him out of the crowd.

He snapped his head around in surprise to meet two sparkling crystal blue eyes in a pale, flawless face, and his mouth exploded into a grin. "Sophie!" Realizing how eager he'd just sounded, he inwardly cringed and forced his grin into something lighter, more teasing, and turned to follow her as she pulled him under the shade of a tree. "Thank goodness, I was looking everywhere for you."

"I saw," she replied in a low, amused tone, with her usual seductive gaze and shy smile. Zack felt his heart start to pound. "It was nice."

"Nice...?" Zack repeated slowly, with a half-raised eyebrow, already starting to feel a little lightheaded.

Sophie nodded, causing a few strands of watery black hair to fall into her eyes. She didn't bother to push them back as she fluttered her eyelashes exaggeratedly up at him, and he realized with a dim pang exactly what she was wearing on this fine afternoon. Instead of swimming in her usual argyle sweater, she was wearing the shirt he'd let her borrow a couple days ago. It was blue, and plaid, like everything he wore, and it was also... quite a statement, considering this was technically only their second date. Very... forward. He choked slightly, feeling his face grow hot as she continued to smile at him. "I liked having you look for _me_," she clarified, as her eyelashes fell long and dark and her cheeks colored.

It was late October. It was freezing outside. He should not be sweating this much. He wondered how she'd react if he took off his jacket. He was a little afraid she may take that as a sign of discomfort or... something else, though, and felt a little stupid that he _was_ afraid. It was just that he'd never been with someone who liked him quite as much as Sophie. Most of the girls who dated him only did it for social purposes. Zack was a very popular guy, and, yeah, he'd admit it, was pretty easy to win over. All you had to do to get on his radar was be his age, be a girl, and not be a ginger, and that was it. He'd date you in a heartbeat. As a result of his being 'easy' and also immensely popular, somewhere along the line girls decided that if you hadn't dated Zack at least once, you were the very definition of loser. Like, beyond loser. The absolute pinnacle of 'wow, why are you even alive?'

And thus Zack's status as the resident ladies' man. He'd explained all this to Jaron once during one of their movie marathons and had gotten chips spat all over his shirt from how hard Jaron started laughing. Zack really didn't care. It just helped him in his noble quest of finding the One.

And the more Sophie looked at him, the more it seemed like he could stop looking, and he was simultaneously euphoric and nervous as hell.

Both of these feelings came out in a shaky, high-pitched chuckle, which was all he could get to come out of his mouth. Great.

Sophie seemed to like even that, though, and moved in closer. Zack grinned and hoped it didn't look too much like he was about to come apart at the seams. He wasn't supposed to do things like that. Besides, he had been the one to tell her he liked a girl who knew what she wanted and went after it. Who'd confessed he hadn't realized she cared that much about him, that it hadn't even occurred to him that his moving on as quickly as he had would even matter to her. She was just making sure there wouldn't be anymore misconceptions. There wasn't anything wrong with that. Wasn't _anything_ wrong with that, his brain felt the need to emphasize.

"Come on," she said suddenly, pushing him urgently backwards with her hands on his chest. He could do nothing but let her, although he did wonder where she was taking him.

He had a fleeting thought that she could be leading him right off the edge of a cliff and he probably wouldn't mind.

He watched as she stopped a few feet away from the tree and reached over nonchalantly to—open a door, and then he was being shoved very quickly – into a green porta potty.

"Whoa," he yelped, his eyes going wide as he only just stopped himself from falling by slamming his hands against the walls, his knees trying to buckle. "Uh—"

His flustered protest was cut off by Sophie pulling the door shut and pouncing on him. Hands snatched him by his collar and lips smushed against his, inexperienced but so eager, so passionate and desperate and reverent—

His breath all left him in a rush and his body seized up, falling back against the thankfully closed toilet. He should find this disgusting. He couldn't even remember where they were. Her arms were like hot brands around his neck and back, grasping and pulling and so, so sweet and wanting—wanting _him_. His eyelids slid down, something aching and damaged inside of him growing soft and pliant, along with the rest of him.

She pulled back after some time, and he realized she'd somehow managed to situate herself in his lap. That was okay. Wonderful, even. She ran her hands through his hair and looked at him like he was the answer to all life's problems, her eyes wide and blue and frantically darting over his face.

"You don't date anyone else," she whispered furiously, fingers digging into his scalp and the middle of his shoulder blades, under his jacket. He stared dumbly up at her. "Okay? You're mine from now on. No one else." Her breaths came out wild and harsh. "I need you."

Zack didn't think it was possible to melt anymore without slipping through the cracks of the plastic room and soaking into the ground, but he managed it. "Okay," he heard himself murmur.

Sophie's eyes still darted, clear and blue as the sky on the sunniest of days. "Really?" she asked weakly.

Zack nodded. Or he thought he did anyway. "Yeah," his voice cracked and he swallowed. "Yeah. Whatever you want." His breathing accelerated to match the frantic beating of his heart, and he tried desperately to look devilish as he added, "I don't sneak out for just _anybody_, ya know."

Sophie ran her eyes down him, licking her lips, and the devilish look was gone but he didn't blame himself. "No, maybe not," she whispered flirtily, with an edge of barely contained excitement as she slid her hands over to play with the collar of his plaid shirt, and Zack wondered through the haze what had happened to his jacket, "but you do sneak out pretty often, huh? Creeping around under your parents' noses in broad daylight, in the late, late afternoon just as the sun is setting, in the dark of night—completely free, completely forbidden; _dangerous_..." She flipped up his collar and caressed it, then used it to jerk him nose-to-nose with her as she breathed delightedly against his lips, "You're a bad boy."

"You taste like cheetos," he mumbled dreamily.

Sophie pulled back and bit her lip, lowering her eyelashes. "I wish I could be like you. There's so many things I've wanted to do..." she trailed off miserably.

Zack was aware at the back of his mind that she was saying things, important things, things that deserved attention—but she was _in his lap_ and she was so pretty and blue and she liked him _so_ much_—_He took a breath, tried to focus. Managed to laugh, and the sound was enough of a shock to his ears that his mind thankfully cleared enough for him to consider what she was saying. "Ah," he exhaled, aware that his face was soft and amused and lovesick and not caring one bit, "why would someone like you want to be like me? Look at you."

Sophie's eyes were a little down, focused on his nose, and when she blinked there was something heavy about it. In fact, it looked a lot like his words had had the completely opposite effect than he'd intended. Zack grew concerned, and even moreso when her eyes flicked even lower. "You're fearless," she murmured, something so powerless in the words that his heartbeat faltered. "You don't care what people think, or how they see you. You don't let anyone restrict you, not even yourself. You're so comfortable and confident, and it's... It's never been like that for me." Her hands began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. She went to button it absentmindedly, just by muscle memory, but then seemed to realize that wasn't actually something she wanted and stilled. Her hands dropped. Her black hair fell in thin strands in front of her face as she looked down at them.

Zack didn't understand, and pushed himself into a more upright position. He rested his hands on her arms then and tried to catch her eye. "What do you have to be uncomfortable about? You're beautiful. Kind and funny and—" He chuckled, briefly rolling his eyes. "You pushed Zachary Shortman into a porta potty to make out with him. That's pretty fearless."

Sophie's eyes peeked out between her hair, and her grin was sweet and laughing. "I did that because I'm afraid," she replied, and the words were sad but her tone happy as she pushed him back against the wall, locking her arms around his neck so she could sag down against his chest. It was awkward and Zack's back protested, but that was fine. He was fine. He wrapped his arms around her. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me." She sighed contently, nuzzling her head into his neck to find that warm, spicy scent. "You don't know what it's been like. I was never allowed to go out without a chaperone. My only friends were my parents' friends. I didn't get to go to school with other kids or talk to anyone I didn't know. I couldn't do anything." Her arms tightened. "I had to beg Dad to even let me come here."

Zack squeezed one arm around her and lifted the other to stroke her hair down her back. "Hey," he said quietly, "I get it. My parents can get pretty overprotective, too. I mean," he hastened to add, scoffing out a weak chuckle, "not nearly so bad as what you dealt with, but I can probably understand better than most people. It's..." He hesitated for just a moment, before beginning again, softer, "Parents can get crazy. But don't feel so bad about it. I know it's hard, but it just means they love you. Sometimes... you just need to put your foot down and remind them _you_ know what's best for you, too... But," he gave her a soft rousing pat, "you know, things are different now." He laughed outright then and put his hands on her arms to gently nudge her up so he could look her in the eye with a grin. "I mean, look at where you are now. A freshman in HS 117, at a rock concert with your boyfriend on a plastic toilet. It doesn't get anymore free than this."

Sophie dissolved into watery laughter, and flicked her eyes up. They were a little glassy. She shook her head and shifted her eyes back down to look at him teasingly. "Bad boy has a sensitive side," she whispered hotly, giddy as she bumped her nose against his and maneuvered her hands to grip at his shoulders. "Who would have thought?"

"I'm full of surprises," he said with a smirk.

Sophie laughed again, breathily, and leaned down to match her lips above his. "I like that," she murmured, and when she kissed him this time, it was softer, more tender, like he was something precious for her to savor. His breath stuttered and caught in his throat.

The concert started outside to a screaming, enthusiastic crowd.

Zack didn't care.

* * *

><p>Phil fell back into the bench with a throaty sigh of relief. "I hate the mall," he wrathfully declared to the general area. A few teenage girls holding several bags exploded into scoffs and sashayed away, their skirts swinging against their freshly waxed legs. He made faces at their backs.<p>

Sara came over to sit beside him, first perching herself on the front then slowly easing herself back. Her hands folded over her lap as she looked forward at nothing. "I love the mall," she remarked.

Phil sent her a huffy expression. "Good for you," he yelled into her ear. Other than her eyes flickering, she gave no reaction. He groaned and sunk down low, folding his arms snug over his chest.

"It's nice," she commented, eyes skimming up over the vibrant signs and high windowed ceilings. Lush potted trees sat on both sides of the bench, and her eyes ran down the one closest to her. She breathed deep. "It smells good, and it's very open, and..."

"And..." Phil cheerfully mocked, as if he were eager to hear her go on.

"And it has really good food, and a huge arcade," she finished placidly. Phil groaned again, with greater animation.

"It's also the most boring place on the planet!" He kicked a leg into the air, trying to injure the mall's very essence. When that proved unsatisfying, he leaned over and punched the side of the bench. Sara continued to look around, not paying him any attention, and he growled. "What's wrong with you?" he complained to the side of her head. "We've been stuck walking around for half an hour and you're not dying! Doesn't anything upset you?"

A wrinkle appeared between Sara's eyebrows. She glanced at him weirdly. "Lots of things," she said, as if it should be obvious.

Phil stared at her through wide eyes, breathing in heavy, irritated pants. Of course, he knew things upset her, but it had been an eternity of wandering and doing nothing and all she did was look totally at peace about everything and he was so sick—"My feet hurt," he huffed. "I hate the mall."

Sara gave a faint snuff. "It wouldn't be so bad if we had money to spend," she said lightly, as if they were talking about the weather. "I'm almost out since lunch."

"Tff," Phil's eyes did a full roll along the edge of his upper eyelids, "money's not the problem, I just don't want to _buy_ anything. Everything stinks here."

"There are over a hundred stores in this place. I'm sure we can find one that's of interest to you."

Phil shifted his eyes over to focus on the pot at eye level with him through the bench's arm. It was brown and roughly textured, the only design a thin band lining around the top of it. He glared heatedly at that line. "Everything stinks here," he repeated bitterly. He sensed Sara's mouth opening again and turned his face swiftly up to shout, "And I wish you would just admit it stinks and shut up!"

She blinked at him. Then, in a single fluid motion, she stood and walked away. Phil gaped after her in disbelief, watching as she just kept walking and walking, eventually turning away and disappearing down a corner. His heart rate spiked and he sat up in a flash, his fingers curling between the bench boards and his mouth falling open in disbelief. His aunt said they had to stick together and Sara just up and pranced away—

He should be getting up and chasing after her. He should be screaming for her to come back. He should be—be going to find someone to direct him to his aunt's location so he could tell her all about how his buddy abandoned him in the middle of a hormonal teenager-infested cesspool.

But all he wanted to do was hug himself and stare at the floor, so that's exactly what he did.

It felt like a month elapsed, but it was really only a few minutes later that a finger tapped him on the shoulder and a sweet, warm smell drifted to his nose. He started, eyes snapping up to see Sara standing there with two paper-wrapped cinnamon buns. She smiled and held one out to him.

He stared at her. Not knowing what to say, he took the proffered item and turned his eyes down to stare at it instead. Sara sat down beside him and looked at her own, her smile fading and eyes brightening in tandem.

First slow, then gradually gaining strength, Phil shook his head and looked back at her. "You're a nut."

"When I was a little kid, my dad would always give me cinnamon sticks when I was upset. It never failed to calm me down," she said by way of explanation, picking at the paper around her bun. "It's not a very good replacement," she admitted, glancing briefly at him, "but cinnamon is cinnamon."

Phil blinked inquisitively. "You're trying to make me shut up," he dryly concluded.

"I'm trying to make you feel better," Sara sighed, taking a small bite. He watched with a mixture of surprise and relief as she chewed and swallowed before speaking again. "Hasn't anyone ever just done something nice for you?"

Phil blinked again. "Not if we weren't related. Or connected through my dad somehow. So…" his eyes drifted off, his fingers drumming once on the pastry, "lots of people do nice things for me." His face sank into darkness.

Sara frowned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Oh, it's not," he hastened to assure, imitating her light tone. "People love my dad, so they love me, too. Or at least most do." He angled his head at the cinnamon bun and picked at the visible bits of sugar. "Because he's a really great guy and he does everything right. And even when he does do something wrong, everyone's always falling over themselves to forgive him. What could be bad about that?"

Sara chewed slowly, settling more comfortably back into the bench. "You sound like you're jealous," she noted.

Phil screwed up his face and threw her a look. "I'm not _jealous_. Just..." he trailed off, blinking his eyes up, then back down. "Well," he huffed out a flat chuckle and glared at the tree, "what do you care?"

It was quiet for a time, while Phil tore long strips of paper off of his bun and let them flutter to the floor. Sara watched a particularly long piece float heavily down, then blinked her eyes forward, wide, and stated, "I wasn't supposed to exist."

Phil snorted and looked at her again. "What?"

"When my mom was a teenager," she went on quietly, adjusting her fingers against the hot pastry, "a doctor told her she couldn't ever have kids. At the time, she was really upset, but life went on and she grew to accept it. 'Cause, you know, what else could she do?" She lifted her shoulders, and paused a beat. Her eyes wandered off. "But then she left for college…"

A minute passed, where Sara stared at nothing and Phil watched her expectantly. When she made no move to continue, Phil huffed impatiently and said, "Okay? Then what?"

Sara took a large bite of her cinnamon bun and chewed, her cheeks puffing unattractively. A trail of crumbs stuck to the edge of her mouth, and she wiped them away with the napkin wedged between her hand and the paper. Phil's eyes widened upon seeing that she had napkins, and he reached over to nab one. Sara caught the motion and wasted no time in pulling out a clean white napkin and handing it over. He wiped his fingers of the sugary glaze and raised a meaningful eyebrow. Sara looked him in the eye and asked, "Wha' bo yew car'?"

Phil scoffed out a noise of disgust and snapped his head away, eyes squeezing shut. "You're doing that just to annoy me," he accused, annoyed.

"Fo?"

"So cut it out!"

Sara chewed loudly. "A'm doin' i'," she said a little more coherently, having swallowed some, "b'cuv yur fill makim affump—" She swallowed completely and sighed, speaking in her typical soft, composed voice, "You're still making assumptions."

He glared at her for that. "Educated guess," he declared indignantly, straightening. "You've made it pretty clear you want nothing to do with me."

"I've made it pretty clear I don't want to be your girlfriend," she said in a perfect monotone, her face flat. "And I didn't like being harassed. But I never said I didn't like you."

"You told me to leave you alone," Phil exclaimed in a high, incredulous voice, and she defended with, "I was really stressed," almost before he finished.

Phil balled the napkin up in his fist and rose up on the bench. "You were only ever nice to me because you wanted me to buy your stupid candy," he shouted, throwing the cinnamon bun down on the seat between them.

"I was nice to you because you looked like you needed it," she threw back, her eyes narrowing slightly as he put his feet up on the bench and stood over her. She looked up at him with a frown. "What are you doing?"

Phil growled at the calm, patronizing voice and asked with his own low and dangerous, eyes dark and daring, "Are you seriously trying to say you like me?"

Sara studied him, her eyes guarded. "Sure..." she slowly murmured. "Why not?"

With a sharp noise of disgust, Phil pounced. He crashed into her, sending them both back into the seat, and she gasped at the sudden invasion as he pushed and pushed, trying to throw her off the bench while his legs scrambled against her own struggling ones. Sara was quick to hold her pastry out of the way of the assault, and used her free hand to hold him at bay best she could while she groaned, like this was a mere inconvenience, "What are you doing?"

"You're lying," he yelled, managing to edge her upper torso off so her hair was hanging down, brushing against the floor. Sara grunted and grabbed the bench's arm, managing to just hook her foot on the other arm at the opposite end. Phil kept pushing. "No one likes me! No one ever likes me! Don't lie to me, you big stupid—"

Sara popped her cinnamon bun in his mouth. He choked, the sweet cinnamon and warm glaze an unexpected burst on his tongue. He rushed to shove himself back and dropped against the other side of the bench, spluttering and coughing as he snatched it out. Sara pulled herself back up, first on her back before grabbing onto the bench boards and pushing up. She scooted back against the bench arm as she eyed him, knees bent close, shoulders and eyes hard as she panted. He trembled as he chewed, angling his face down, his hair acting as an unruly shield. Sara gave a final long exhale and relaxed, seeing that he was done. "You make it really hard," she said.

Phil didn't reply.

She watched him for a while, listening to the light smacking sounds of him eating. She shifted her legs closer. "This curse has really been messing with you... hasn't it?" His hand twitched over the bun. Her eyes widened slightly, and she tilted her head with a sudden understanding. "You never really wanted me to like you, did you? And you... you never wanted to like me..." Her eyes shifted and hands hovered restlessly, feeling suddenly out of her depth. "Not really..." she mumbled uncertainly.

Phil placed his free hand down against the bench and edged himself farther away.

Sara took in a deep breath and turned her eyes up, seeking wisdom in the air, golden with the fading sun. A single hair soared through the air. She tracked it for a few seconds, then sighed silently and turned her eyes back down to look at him. Seeing the way he was holding his head, her frown deepened into concern. "Are you okay?"

He jerked his head up, scowling with a look of extreme discomfort. His face was a bright, shameful red, and Sara marveled at it for a couple seconds before realizing, "You're embarrassed."

"You—" Phil started to growl, frustrated, but then groaned and turned his head away, partially out of sight. He swallowed and stood, wanting to leave and trying to for a few steps, but then remembered that he couldn't and groaned again, standing erect a few feet away, his back to her and the cinnamon bun tight at his side.

Sara frowned at his back. "I care," she said softly.

Phil threw his head back again and groaned. Then his head fell in defeat, a hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, and his head tilted to look down the way they'd come. Without saying a word, he began marching with determined speed in that direction.

He heard somewhere over the screaming in his ears that Sara was asking him where he was going, but he just held up his free hand for her to stay put without turning around and continued stiffly on.

A few minutes later, he came back, avoiding her eyes, and sat the pot down beside her. He cleared his throat and gestured to it, while Sara stared. "There," he grumbled.

She shifted her eyes unblinking to the petunias, bright and healthy in a small dark orange pot. For a moment, her eyes widened, and she looked almost shocked, but then something flashed and they hardened the instant she looked at him. "These—" she started warily, but Phil huffed and cut her off.

"Are an apology," he said uncomfortably, forcing himself to look in her eyes as he said it, like his dad always insisted he do. It was hard, and he was sure his face was turning pink, but he felt too guilty not to. "So, you know, just accept them and... stop talking." Finished, his eyes snapped almost involuntarily to the floor.

The hard look was gone. Sara blinked a couple times in rapid succession, clearly surprised, then turned her eyes back down to examine the flowers with new eyes. They were white with bright yellow centers that took up almost the entirety of the blooms, and smelled richly of earth. She reached out to stroke one of the petals. Hardly knowing she did, she said, "They're yellow."

Phil brought the hand up still holding the bun and wrapped his other hand around it, hanging loose in front of himself. "I know this'll surprise you, but I'm not completely unobservant," he muttered, only a little sarcastic.

The whisper of a smile crossed her face, and when she looked at him again, it was unusually soft. He glanced at her only once when he felt her eyes on him again, and was startled at the sight of it. As a general rule, her face was always soft, had been for the entire duration of their acquaintance—with pudgy faces, it kind of came with the territory, he guessed. But seeing how she was looking at him now made him realize just how stiff she'd been around him lately. She'd been uncomfortable and angry and hiding it behind a mask of pleasant neutrality. He'd known she was mad, that she was hiding things, but seeing it confirmed again had his eyes snapping back down. He heard rather than saw her pull the pot closer to her on the bench. "Thank you," she said, reaching around the plant to pat the empty seat. Phil walked the two steps it took to reach the spot and sat. Sara eyed him. "But... what are you apologizing for?" she asked then, and Phil couldn't hold back the snort at the way she said that.

"Criminy, what are you, my mom?" he exclaimed, flicking his eyes to her agitatedly. "I'm not good with apologies, okay? You know what I'm apologizing for. Don't make me say it—You don't want me to say it. Trust me, this can get ugly real fast."

Sara looked slightly amused. "For… stalking me?" she guessed, like he hadn't just begged her to let the subject go. Phil let out a long exasperated exhale, eyes flying high and shoulders slumping forward. Sara grinned ever so slightly. "For yelling at me, maybe? Or for pinning me down. Acting like I owed you something—Trying to push me off the bench." She said this last bit as if it were some grand moment of insight for her, and Phil really wished she'd stop.

So naturally she went on. At least the light joking tone that had been underlining her words was gone, but the seriousness that replaced it wasn't especially comforting. "You know," she said quietly, leaning forward to try and catch his eye, "I understand that you were under a lot of pressure with the curse, but that doesn't change that what you did really wasn't okay. How would you like it if someone followed you around, was constantly asking after you, demanding attention and then had the nerve to force you down and declare that they love you, while never once considering how you might feel about any of it?"

Phil slammed his eyes shut, the color draining from his face so quickly he felt lightheaded. Taking in a deep breath, he let it out in a small groan while running a knuckle over his eye. "Geez, it's like I apologized and you're punishing me for it."

"I just want you to understand what you did wrong," she said consolingly.

"Why? So I can feel even worse than before?"

She reached over to place a reassuring hand on his knee. "So you won't do it again." Her voice was just as gentle as her touch.

Phil stared at that hand. At first his gaze was weary, but it grew more pointed the longer it remained. She must have noticed, because she gave his knee a parting pat and pulled it away. For some reason, that just made him feel even more horrible than before. "You really don't have to worry about that," he sighed gloomily. "I've given up hope on ever beating the curse."

Sara's surprise was a palpable force. Phil watched her leg as it shifted. "Really?" After a beat, she added, "Why?"

"Because," he stated heavily, "the only girl who doesn't hate me doesn't want to be my girlfriend."

The silence that stretched between them was stifling. Phil wrapped the paper around the bun just for something to do.

Some time later, Sara took in an audible breath and wet her lips once before piping up, in the most cautious tone he had ever heard from anyone, "I know this seems bad now, but…" He clenched his eyes shut. "I'm sure—"

"'I'm sure since curses aren't real that you'll eventually get over your childish delusion and move past this, Phil,' " Phil suddenly burst in a hoarse, mocking tone, stuffing the bun suddenly into his coat pocket with a sarcastic grin. That grin went up in smoke when he slammed his hands down against the bench and pushed himself off. Sara's eyes went huge at the suddenness of it, as he was now heaving in front of her with a dark scowl and hands in bruising fists at his sides. "'There's no such thing as aliens, let alone alien owls, Phil,' " he yelled in that same tone. "'No, the ghost isn't gonna come out and murder us in our sleep, quit worrying so much, Phil!' 'We just want to have a little fun, Phil! It's just a joke, Phil!' 'You're so uptight, why don't you ever stop and have fun once in a while, Phil? I get so tired of having to listen to you yammer, Phil!' 'You're just a stupid little kid who doesn't ever know what he's talking about, Phil! Quit _overreacting_, Phil!' " His shoulders shook with the force of his outrage. "You think this is some kind of joke?" he hissed, almost too fast to understand. "Do you think I like being this way? Do you think I'm having fun with the idea that I might end up shackled to my worst enemy? That I can't see exactly what you're doing?

"I never believe anything without a good reason! My grandpa's wife was an evil, psychopathic jerk as a kid who did nothing but get him in trouble for years! My own mom was a huge bully who threw spitballs at my dad and glued feathers to his butt and called him names every day and it's been like that for generations! Mercy has been torturing me as far back as I can remember, it's no different than every other Shortman in my family line, and I swear that owl was looking at me funny the whole night!" He took a weighted step towards her and Sara stiffened in response, right before Phil grabbed her by the front of her jacket and jerked her down, his face twisted in disgust. "This isn't something I've just _dreamed up_ out of the blue so don't you dare use that soft, patronizing, _indulgent_ tone with me like I'm an idiot, because I'm _not—_" his voice cracked.

Sara sat still as a statue in front of him, her jaw slack. He stared first at her eyes, wide as saucers and strangely dark under her bangs, before darting his gaze down to stare at his hands. The fabric of her coat bunched thick and fuzzy in his fingers, but he could hardly feel it… and like a wave crashing over his head he realized with a disorienting rush that his breathing was coming harsh and ruthless and his arms were shaking and he had to get away he had to run as fast as he could but all he could think was _No no no not again_—

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Sara hastened soothingly out, her hands coming up to wrap around his shaking ones, "it's okay, everything's going to be all right. Just look me in the eye and—"

Phil jerked out of her hold like she was on fire and stumbled back in fear. Her eyes widened again, and he choked, slapping his hands over his face and trying to stop trembling long enough to get farther away.

Sara watched wordlessly as he struggled before looking around. The coast appeared clear at first, but then her eyes caught sight of a man standing several yardsticks away, frozen and staring beside another potted tree with a bag of roasted peanuts in his hand. Sara breathed in sharply and stood, grabbing her plant, and walked over to Phil. She whispered to him, "Let's go find a quiet store and talk about this."

She took the edge of his sleeve and gave it a gentle tug in her direction. She stepped forward and waited.

It took him a minute, but he followed.

* * *

><p>"Happy Halloween!" a mechanical voice cackled as they entered the novelty shop. Phil jolted away, his eyes whipping over to meet two glowing red ones in the face of a hideous witch decked in stereotypical black garb. Her sharp, grinning teeth shined a plastic white as she rotated back around and shut off. He shuddered as he walked on, eyes never leaving the witch's black eyes as Sara strode ahead of him. Her hand squeezed his wrist reassuringly as she looked around.<p>

"This seems safe," she said warily, eyes still moving around. Just to make sure, she led him behind a rack of pumpkin costumes.

Phil's breath puffed against his hand as he looked up at her. His eyes were distrustful, but the manic terror was thankfully long gone. Sara detected the question in his posture and gave him an awkward smile.

"Sorry I upset you," she offered. It was as good an opener as any.

Phil shut his eyes and turned his head down.

Sara frowned and looked away as well. Her arm swung away from his, and then up to grab the other side of her pot, shifting it from her side to the front of her stomach. "Seems all I ever do is upset people," she muttered, her back bending a little backwards. She sighed silently and shook her head, looking back down at him. "I don't think you're an idiot. I never did. That's why I was so surprised when you—" She stopped. "Sorry. I'm sorry. That's all. Is it better in here?"

Phil turned away and sighed, finally starting to feel himself again. "Smells like plastic and make up."

"I'd like to help you with your curse," she said abruptly.

Phil stilled. Unsure if he'd heard right, he turned his head to look at her. His hair fell into his eyes. "You want to be my girlfriend now?" he rasped with dull skepticism. He didn't sound very enthusiastic.

Air released from her nose, and all energy inside of her seemed to drain as she looked at him. "No," she said simply. "Even if I did, I'm too old for you. What I'm saying is I'd like to help you find someone who _is_ willing to be your girlfriend."

Phil's blank gaze shifted. "No one's willing."

"What if you could make them? If you could…" She transferred her weight to her other foot, then again. She seemed antsy for a couple seconds, before she turned fully towards him. "You're a very angry person," she said simply. "But if you wanted, I think I could help you manage that anger. If you were a little nicer to people, I bet you could find the right girl easily."

Phil paused. Then looked back at her. His expression didn't change. "Why would you ever want to help me?"

"Maybe I'm tired of being alone," she said, and his eyes did a slow roll. Her mouth twitched. She adjusted the flower in her arms. "I want to say I just want to help you but I have a feeling you won't accept that."

"No, I'd accept it," he denied, "if it was genuine."

"It is."

Phil made a noise of weak frustration and wriggled his arms. "I don't appreciate you making fun of this," he warned tiredly. "I know you think I'm crazy, but even if the curse ends up being wrong, this is very real to me right now so—"

"I don't think you're crazy," she said firmly, steel in her voice and eyes that had him blinking. "Look, this is only going to work if you stop assuming things—"

"Why are you ignoring the fact I just screamed at you and went nuts?" he cried hoarsely, exasperated.

"Because I don't know what to say," she quickly replied. "I only know that this keeps coming up. This curse, those people, _you_—I can't go on like this. If I help you, maybe this can finally end." His face dropped into grim understanding, prompting her to continue. With a brief moment of collection, she added, "I want peace, yes, but I also really do want to help you. I… used to think I'd like to be your friend. You're—different from other people, and I like different. But…" She took a moment to inhale. Something dimmed in her eyes. "When I said before that you were nothing, I meant that in my head you're like… this blank space. I don't know what to think of you, so I try not to think anything." She glanced away involuntarily, then forced herself to look back. "But now, I think I'd like to try…" The words sounded strained, like it was a struggle for her to say them. To combat her tone, she smiled.

Phil stared at her. His brain reeled at this turn of events.

The truth was, he didn't know why he was being such a brat about all this. This was the deal that could save his life, but something still thrashed and screamed inside of him to shout _No_ in her face and march away as fast as he could without looking back. He didn't know why he exploded in her face before, or felt so irritable and exhausted at the same time. Of course, he was irritable by nature, but something about today was different. Maybe it was the fact he'd spent over sixty hours watching television to try to drown out the cruel reality of a life spent beside Mercy Laporte, or that he'd gotten thrown fully-clothed into a pool, or maybe that he'd had to watch her talk with her mouth full several times now. He really didn't know, but he did know his only options right now were either to agree… or sign his own death certificate.

And so, he choked out a simple, stiff, "Fine," and smiled like he did during improv.

And they stood there, smiling fakely at each other for another minute, before Sara said, "Really?"

"Yes."

Sara blinked. "Okay."

"Okay," he echoed, and shoved his hands with forced casualty in his pockets. "Sorry I grabbed you again and shouted in your face."

Sara worked her mouth. "…None taken?"

Phil sighed and threw his eyes up. "Guess I'll have to join drama again."

"Or," Sara drew out, "I could just come to your house."

His mom's face flashed in his mind. "No," he said forcefully. "I'll join drama."

Sara stared at him. "But you hate drama."

His whole family's faces flashed this time, starting with Josh's and culminating in his mom's again, and he cringed. "Yeah…" he admitted wistfully, running a rough hand over his neck. His head nodded decisively. "I'll join drama. I need to get out of the house anyway."

Sara blinked at him, then shifted her eyes left and right before looking at him again through tilted eyes. She took a step back. "Okay…"

"Okay." He followed her as she moved further back. It occurred to him they were now going to be stuck with each other for a while and his eyes narrowed in tandem with his mouth curving up. He pulled the paper-wrapped cinnamon bun from his pocket like a magic trick. "I can get a job as a stage hand. Auditions and callbacks are over, right?"

Sara took another cautious step back and glanced away, her head tilting up like she was looking for something. "Uh-huh."

Phil bobbed his head once and said no more on the topic. He peeled the paper back from the cinnamon bun. "So…" he said casually, stepping forward as he took a large bite out of a side she hadn't eaten off of. He rocked on his heels and spoke over his chewing, "Wha' bo we bo mow?"

Sara's eyes snapped to him.

He grinned, wide and open-mouthed.

Her eyes darted to his mouth then several other directions. "Uh—" She coughed, nearly laughing, before biting her lip hard. She moved off to the side, partially behind the costume rack. "Yeah—" she coughed again, then disappeared around the corner with her plant swinging in her arms. Phil clicked his mouth shut and raised an eyebrow after her. Her voice came muffled the next second, "Actually, I won't have a lot of time during drama. Romeo and Juliet is a big production—"

Phil poked his head around the corner, catching her biting her fist. Her eyes snapped to his and the hand fell casually to the side. Her eyes met his eyes tranquilly, as if it was perfectly normal to hide behind a bunch of pumpkin costumes and bite yourself. "Why won't you have a lot of time?" he asked, ignoring the fact she was a weirdo. "You're just gonna be pulling ropes or something, right? Unless…" He blinked slowly. His face shut down. "No."

Sara smiled faintly. "I'm an understudy."

"For which character?" he demanded.

She turned and walked away. He followed at her heels. "Juliet," she admitted speedily, "but—"

"The leading role?" he cried. "But—You—" He shook his head furiously and burst, "You actually _did something_ and I missed it?"

Sara looked around some more. "There's gotta be a clock," she mumbled.

Phil skidded around so he was in front of her, and tapped his foot with his arms crossed sternly over his chest. "_Sara_."

She blinked, and slowly turned her head down to look at him. "Yes?" she asked nicely.

Oh, he was going to gut her before the month was out. His eyebrows dug deep into his eyes. "Sara."

"Yes?"

"_Sara_…" he growled lowly.

Sara blinked and walked away again. "You might want to get that oiled."

Okay, correction. He was going to gut her right now, with nothing but his bare hands and a pastry. He stormed after her, raising his hands up to do just that.

Sara sighed at the sound of his angry footsteps and stopped to look at him again. He snapped his arms back to his sides and looked at her innocently. Her face was resigned. "It was a private audition," she quietly disclosed, "and I asked for an understudy role. I'm the sixth down the line. I… had to participate in at least _one_ significant way, otherwise my mom would be upset. I just told you so you'd know I have a lot of lines to practice before opening night, so I won't have a lot of time to help you there."

Phil quirked his mouth to one side and narrowed his eyes in confusion. "But the likelihood you'll have to go on—"

"Is slim. I know." She gave up searching and turned her body to him. "Do you have the time?"

Phil blinked. It occurred to him what she was after and he stuck the bun in his mouth so he could pull his watch out of his pocket and snap it open. The chain dangled from the clasp at his belt buckle, and Sara's eyes ran down it.

"You have a pocket watch," she said.

"It's ten from six," he stated once he had the bun out, snapping the watch shut with one hand and shoving it along with its chain back into his pocket.

"And a pager," she went on, as if he hadn't spoken. She seemed a little dazed.

He squinted at her. "Do you have to go? Because since we're here, I was kind of hoping—"

"Ten from six," Sara suddenly exclaimed, and the sudden animation nearly toppled him over in shock. She hugged her plant close and went skittering towards the exit. "We'll figure something out later, I have to go now," she called.

Phil blinked dumbly then went racing after her. "Whoa, wait!" he yelled, and passed right by the witch without thinking. The witch suddenly burst to life and cackled, eyes flashing and jerking back and forth. He screeched, nearly tripping in his haste to get away, but he snatched his wits back as quick as he could and yelled, "You can't leave me here alone, you have to walk me back to the fountain!"

Sara stopped at that and looked back at him oddly. Shifting the pot to one arm, she brought the full length of her arm out to point down the way.

He blinked and turned to look. The fountain sat tall and beautiful, gushing sparkling water only a few yards away. He turned his head back to frown at her, putting a pained hand to his chest. "I could _die_," he choked emotionally.

Sara smiled a little and continued on. "Goodbye, Phil."

Phil dropped the act and waved her off. "Yeah, smell you later, you walking fire hazard."

Sara left, and Phil lifted the half-eaten cinnamon bun up to examine. He twisted it a couple ways, then took a small bite and tilted his head up to the lights. "I have no idea how to feel," he mused.

Shaking his head, he journeyed the short ways to the water fountain.

Dolly stepped out from behind a vampire manikin and watched him walk away. Her glasses fogged and her shoulders rose and fell heavily with the force of her wheezing. The witch burst into cackles and started spinning from the movement, and Dolly snapped her eyes to it, glowing green with rage.

She kicked it over, and even while it crashed, kept kicking it. She kicked it until it was all the way against the display window and growled as it cackled and thrashed against the floor. A few teens walked by and gawked once before running away, but she didn't see them and she didn't stop and she didn't care.

Finally, her asthma got too bad for her to continue. She gave one final weak kick and scrabbled for the inhaler in her shirt as she stumbled off in Sara's direction.

The witch's eyes glowed red long after the cackling stopped.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Goddamnit, Dolly. Cool your ranch. Or at least kick the witch's face in. Work with me here.

Oh my God, guys. This is gonna be some Lilo and Stitch type shiz. Like, picture Sara with a crude drawing of Phil colored in bright red, and she's like, "This is your badness meter. It's abnormally high for someone your size." BWAHAHAH AHHAHAH HA

You know what's great? Sara and Phil's interactions were not supposed to go on for this long. Rather, the chapter wasn't supposed to be almost nothing _but_ their interactions. You might ask why that is, and I might reply FML, and then we might awkwardly stare at each other before walking away. And we might both be worse off for that one encounter. That one encounter might haunt us for the rest of our days. We might never be the same people again.

No, but the plan was: Get it so they're both in a good enough position with each other that Sara can make her offer to help him with the curse. But she really didn't want to and Phil kept blowing up and so here we are. There was supposed to be a few scenes with Zack and Pam interviewing Olga and Olga and Phil chatting it up like gangstaz, but if I added those in, this would have far exceeded 40,000 words… and _I'm_ okay with that, but I didn't want you guys to die. XD Hell, _I_ didn't want to die. These chapters are monsters to revise. Any longer and I may have gotten a pitch fork and angrily waved it at _myself_.

In case you guys are wondering, Sara's fully fleshed out and has a complete backstory. She's not in this story just to be Phil's shmoop. I have big plans for her… I'm srsly struggling with how much of her I should reveal every time I write. This just… Haha. There's just no words for the struggle. xD

HOW COOL IS IT THAT THIS IS LINING UP WITH HALLOWEEN THO? IMMA TRY, IMMA TRRRRYYY TO GET THE HALLOWEEN BIT UP IN TIME but will ultimately fail so whatever let's get to questions *combs emo hair*

**Q – Will their be a scene in a story with a uncomfortable Romantic setting with Zack and Pam that will confuse their relationship?**

**A –** I really don't know. xD

**Q – Ever thought of creating your own "Hey Arnold!: The Jungle Movie" as prequel to "Life with the Shortmans"?**

**A –** Aw, you'll see TJM when it gets made by Craig, either as a movie or a graphic novel. I've been dancing around TJM this entire fic, just trying to make sure there's a space for whatever might occur in the film. Craig's still holding out hope, so I'm still holding out hope. Simple as that.

**Q – Does it seem like Zack takes after Phil Senior Shortmen and could take over the Boarding House, while writing Famous Poems/writings? Zack does not seem to have plan. Sure, he can write REALLY well, but he looks like a party guy. I can just read Zack taking over the Boarding House and sort a being very manipulative on making sure the Boards don't cause trouble.****Plus, Zack could write and publish Poems in his spare time or go to College, while learning to Run the Boarding house.**

**A –** Zack doesn't have a plan, that's true. I… There's a lot here I can't respond to. But I will say Zack won't ever be publishing his poetry or writing for a living. Poetry has only ever been a light hobby for him. He just does it without thinking. Even if August never happened, he'd never be interested in pursuing it as a career. It'd feel too much like getting paid to collect buttons or do origami, lol. You just don't do it.

**Q –** **Who is this mysterious crush that Josh "Ham" Shortman has on and why does he not go and confess to her, if Josh "Ham" Shortman sort a the perfect girl to MOST girls? Is she really Mature Women in College, does not think much of Josh in Highschool or is she the nobody in school people would think THE Josh "Ham" Shortman would have a crush on?**

**A –** I can't tell you any of this… XD Spoilers, dude!

**Q – If Helga pregnant or going to be pregnant, will it be ANOTHER girl, so Amanda could be a big sister? I hope Helga has a little girl that takes after her somewhat, BUT also has Arnold personality. Like relax/cool like her father, yet fiery personality of her mother.****It would be interesting to read the YOUNGEST/Baby of the Shortman family would react to Amanda and if their relationship would be like Olga/Helga or actually have a GOOD relationship when it comes to sisters.****Maybe she would cry when Amanda around or stop crying when Amanda came around.**

**A –** Ah… Helga… isn't going to be pregnant… ever again. I don't know where you got that impression? Helga originally didn't want to have _four_ kids… Originally Helga didn't want to have kids _at all_.

Okay, actually glad this came up. You're not the first to suggest this, and it's been on my mind for waaay too long. I apologize in advance for the essay. I just really have to get this out of my head.

To be fair, I've always kinda imagined Helga's reasoning for not really wanting kids was a) the thought of shoving a watermelon out of her v-jay was a big N-O, b) she hated the idea of sharing Arnold, and c) she was afraid she'd be a horrible parent since… HA, do I have to say it? So, yeah, her reasons weren't really legit. I kinda imagine her being like me in that regard, 'cause I can't stand the idea of having children for pretty much the same reasons. But at the same time I sometimes find myself being hit with this horrible motherly urge that like keels me over dead every time it happens (don't quote me on this). I see Helga being a lot like that, kinda secretly wanting it but being extremely reluctant. She's too soft and loving inside for it not to at least _occur_ to her. I think she was just afraid, and still is, truly.

But Arnold was _born_ to be a dad, okay. Born for it. We all know this. It's the most OOC thing I can possibly imagine for Arnold to not want kids, and the saddest I can imagine for him to never have them. So, I picture Arnold and Helga arguing about it for years before finally sitting down and having a mature conversation at some point during their engagement where they… agree to have one or two, _several_ years into their marriage, when they're both ready.

The reason they have four in this fic is because I… As well as not being able to see Arnold not be a dad and believing Helga would make a great mom if she put her mind to it, I also can't see Arnold and Helga not… having a very… active sex life. Very active. Like, Walmart Supercenter active. On the teeter-totter at midnight active. In a box with a fox active.

So the first year of their marriage, Zack ended up happening—whoopsies. Ham was planned. Phil was an expired condom (that they knew was expired so they kinda left it up to fate there (and also just really wanted to do it)). And Amanda was like a drunken impulse buy on their anniversary (because it was like, we already have three, what the hell? Maybe we'll get a girl this time!). You can actually see the gradual "so done with this shit" happening, because Ham happened two years after Zack, Phil three, and Amanda four… so it was like this natural progression. By this point, since Amanda is seven, I think we can all just assume Helga got her tubes tied. Or got a boxing glove and repeatedly punched her uterus until it was no longer capable of procreation. Either one, the message is there.

Arnold and Helga's original plan was to see the world with each other and establish kickass careers before they ever had children… but stuff happened, and, well. One of the main morals I want to portray with LwtS is that life doesn't always turn out the way you planned it to and it's rarely ideal, but… that's not always a bad thing.

Yeah, so… TLDR; there's not going to be anymore kids. XD I understand this want to have as many sibling dynamics as possible, kinda cover all the bases, but I can't in good faith tack onto that. It's just not realistic to me. Four kids is pushing it. Five is throwing all logic out the window.

And… one or two is just no fun. .w.

**Q – ****is Morris's dad Seymour?**

**A –** Yup!

All right, gotta ask you guys… WHAT HALLOWEEN COSTUMES SHOULD THESE GUYS HAVE? I AM DRAWING BLANKS OVER HERE. PHIL'S HAS GOTTA BE REALLY REALLY SCARY, BUT IDK, IDK, WHATDOIDOWHATDOIDO

I love you all ;w; You make me want to be a better writer. Any and all forms of reviews are appreciated and hugged. As long as they're not flames. Idk when the next bit is gonna be up, 'cause there's a lot of stuff I need to catch up on, both in RL, on FF and on dA, but I'll try to get it up before Halloween… 'Try' being the operative word there. x'D

Thanks for reading, guys!

_**REVIEW!**_


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